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f 



% 



Owing to a " chapter of accidents," with the details of which we will* not at present trouble our 
readers, we have been obliged, at the last moment, to substitute the music plates for December, in place 
of those designed for the present month ; but wc have left the numbers of the lurs unchanged, as we 
purpose next month to supply the deficicucy. We arc also obliged' to postpone our usual 'comments 
until next month, when we will give regular notices of the entire. 



^ 



THE 



CITIZEN: 



OR 



DUJ^LIN MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 



VOLUME III. 



JANUARY TO JUNE, 1841. 



^^^^^^^^^»^fc^^^>^»^>^>^^^^^»^^M^^^^>^^V^>^v^^^>^ 



DUBLIN : 
SAMUEL J. MACHEN, 8, D'OHER-STRBET. 

AND ALL B00X8ZLLBBS. 









KftlNTID BT WBBB AND CMAPMAKt OBKAT BXPKSWICK.STBBIT, DVBLfN. 



CONTENTS OF VOLUME THIRD. 



••• 



the 



EUtension of the Franchl8e» Part TIL 

• CUJCey ••• ••• <«• ••• aca ,,, ,,, 

Fire-side Bamblings, 

Orientale, from the French of Victor Hugo, 

History of the Lhien Trade, Part I. ... ... . 

Maniifactnriiig Education, 

Hamilton Rowan, Part I. 

oianzas, ,••• ••• ••• ••• •#• ••• 

Stories of the Pyrenees, No. IV.— The Prisoners on Parole Cconcluded) 

The Native Music of Ireland, 

Irish Air, No. I. << Cia an bealach a deachaidh Si." 

No. n. *' The Wearing of the Green.*' 

No. in. " Air for the Vioto" 

Insecurity of Life and Property in Ireland ... 

vfUISOw ... •.• ... ... ... ... •«• 

On seeing a certain Building by Moonlight ... 

The Boy Enthusiast ... 

India— Her Owi^—And Another's; Chap. XII. the First Mahratta War— Chap. XIIL 

Second Mafaratta War 
Idyl — from Bion ... ... ... ... ... ... •.. 

Art-Unions at Home and Abroad 

stanzas •• ..« ... ... ••. ... ... ... 

Thoughts and Fancies on Things at Home and Abroad 

The Wexford Retreat I.. » . ... ... «*. 

^JlOlCl ••• •«• ••• «.. .*• ... ... ••• 

Critical Notices, 

Manon Leseaut. — ^Brittan's Tables of Chemical Analysis.— Stories about Alfred the 
Great;— The Booksellers' Charter Song. 
The Native Music of Ireland ... ... ... ... 

Irish Air, No. rV. — "Fuaim na Dtonn." ... ... ... ... 

No. V—«* Our Bear Native Island." 

No. VI. — ^'^ Irish Dance." ... 

National Reckonings 

Xiines for Music. — On hearing, after many years, an Air familiar to Childhood ... 

Stanzas.^ — (With an enclosure) — ^from the Italian. 

SrBr WI Ki l O ••• ••• ••• ••• ••■ «•• «•• 

Fireside Ramblings ; Part IL — The taking of Snuff originally a Black Art. — In praise of my 
Walking Stick,-^ chapter about Candles. — On dreaming.— Mr. Kearney 

MoU Roe's Marriage; or. The Pudding Bewitched. A Tale for an Irish Wake. By 

William Carleton ••• ••• ... .«• ... ... 

History of the Linen Trade; Part IL 

The Meed of the Minstrel ••• ... ... ... ... •.• 

A Jreep at Jraris ... ... .*• •.. ... ■*. ••• 



Page 
1 

13 
14 
21 
22 
31 
39 
49 
50 
63 
64 
65 
66 
67 
75 
81 
82 

83 
95 
96 
106 
107 
116 
129 



184 
135 
136 
138 
139 
144 
145 
145 

146 

155 
162 
173 
174 



IV. €X>NTENTS. 

Face* 

Song of O'Ruarc ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 1B9 

Mock Irish Workfl ... ... ... ... ... ... ••• 190 

The Cymbalier's Bride. A Ballad. From the French of Victor Hugo. ... ... 194 

Critical Notices ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 195 

The Native Music of Ireland ... ... ... ... ... ... 19d 

Irish Air, No. VH " The Deserter.'* ... ... ... ... ... 200 

No. Yin.— <« Bfearr Uom a bheith Marbh." ... ... ... ... SOI 

No. IX *' Fiisdin Fuhme." ... ... ... ... ... 203 

The Russian Officer, ... ... ... ... ... ... 207 

The Vioerojy ... ... ••. ... ... ••• ••• 219 

The Lost One, ... ... ••• ... ••• ... *.• 225 

xiuerSy ... •«. ... •*. ... ... ... •.• BSD 

Manufactnres and Agriculture, ... ... ... ... ... 285 

Turbulence in Ireland, ••• ... ... ... ... ... 240 

Stories of my Foster-father; No. 1. — ^The Battle of Waterloo ... ... ... 265 

ocanzas, lo ... ... ... ... ... ••• siOw 

NatiTC Music of Ireland, .«. ... ... ... ••• ... 260 

Irish Ahr, No. X. « The Little Field of Bailey/' ... ... ... ... S60 

■ ■ I No. XL ** All for Diversion.** ... ... ... ... ... S61 



>■■ No. Xn. « The Midnight Fifer." 

.■■ No. Xm. "The Rocky Road." ... ... ... ... ... 262 

Natural ffistory of Society, ... ... ... ... ... ... 263 

otanzas, *«• ... ... ... ... ... ... 



Hernani, .«• ... ... •.. ... ... ... 870 

The Fah7 and the Peri. From the French of Victor Hugo, ... ... ... 275 

Stanzas : to the Wallflower, ... ... ... ... ... ... S70 

A FriendinNeedi ... ... ... ••• ... .•• ... 260 

xne juvais, ..« ... ... ••• ... ... ... ^oo 

To Ireland, ... ... ... •«• ... ... ..« 297 

Materials for Irish History ... ... ... ... ... ... 998 

Xlmue ■ «« . *.. ... ... ... ... ... wM7 

Native Music of Ireland ... ... ... ... ... ... 818 

IrMi Air, No. XIV..—*' The Wearing of the Green." ... ... ... ... 816 

- . ^ No. XV — '* Paddy Mac Rory," ... ... ... ... 319 

, No. XVI " Irish Lullaby," ... ... ... ... ... 820 

■ No. XVIL>^** Modem Irish Dance," ... ... ... ... 320 



Hints to England ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 321 

^aaroeiift. ... ... ... ... ... ... «•* 931 

N^er's Peninsular War ... ... ... ... ... ... 340 

A Friend in Need ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 347 

OvUg ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .«■ 3d7 

M. Odilon-Barrot ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 358 

Lines on revisiUng Xilronan after a lapse of many years, by R. R. Maodxn, ... 366 

Native Music of Ireland ... ... ... ... ...^ ... 367 

Irish Airs, No. XVIH — « The Song of the Streams." ... ...* ... 267 

■ , Na XIX.— " MoUy St. Qeoige." ... ... ... ... 368 

, No. XX.—" Joy of the Middens." ^.. ... ... ... 368 

, No. XXL— *' Connor O'Reilly of Clounish." ... ... ... 368 



INDEX TO VOLUME THIRD. 



All for Diveruon ;~(Music, No. XL 260.) 
Art-Unions at Home and Abroad, 96. 
BfearrLiomaBheitliMarbhi— (Music, No. VIII.) 

198. 
Boy Enthusiast, the, 82. 
Certain Building by Moonlight, lines on a, 81. 
Cia an Bealagh a Diachaidh Si ; — (Muaic, No. I.) 

63. 
Connor O'Beilly of Clounish ;— (Music, No. XXI.) 

36a 
Critical Notices, 130, 195. 
Cymballer's Bride, the, 194. 
Deserter, the; — (Music, No. YII.) 198. 
Education, Manufacturing, 31. 
England, Hints to, 
Extension of the Franchise, 1. 
Fairy and the Peri, the, 276. 
Feuillide, Be;— (Beriewed) 321. 
Fireside Bamblings, 14, 146. 
Franchise, Extension of the ; Burt III. 1. 
Friend in Need, 280, 347. 
Fuaim na Btonn ;— (Music, No. IV.) 134. 
Green Book, the, (Beviewed) 298. 
Gold, 129. 
Guizot, 75. 

Hall, Mr. and Mrs. S. C. 190. 
Heniani, 270. 
Hints to England, 321. 
Home, 311. 
Idyl, from Bion, 95. 
India, Her Own, and Another's ; Chapters XII. 

and XIIL 83. 
Insecurity of Life and Property in Ireland, 67. 
IreUmd, to, 297. 
Ireland, Her Scenery, People, &c. (Beviewed) 

190. 
Irish i>ance;-.(Mu8ic, No. VI.) 134. 
Irish I>anco, Modem;— (Music, No. XYII.) 320. 
Irish History, Materials for, 298. 
Irishmen, Lives of Illustrious, (Beviewed) 298. 
Joy of the Maidens ; — Music, No. XX.) 368. 
Linen Trade, History of the, 22, 162. 
Lines for Music, 144. 
Lines on Bevisiting Kilronan, 366. 
Little Field of Barley, the,— (Music, No. X.) 260. 
Lives of Illustrious Irishmen (Beviewed) ; 298. 
Lost One, the, 225. 
LuUaby ;— (Music, No. XVIL) 320. 



Manufacturing Education, 31. 

Manufactures and Agriculture, 235. 

Marcella, 331. 

Materials for Irish History, 296. 

Meed of the Minstrel, the, 173. 

Midnight Fifer, the, (Music, No. XIL) 260. 

Mock Irish Works, 190. 

Moll Boe's Marriage, by William Carleton, 155. 

Molly St. George ;— (Music, No. XIX.) 368. 

Music, Native, 63, 134, 198, 260, 318. 

Napier*s History of the PeninsiUar War, (Be- 
viewed) 340. 

National Beckonings, 139. 

Natural History of Society, by Dr. Taylor, 
(Beviewed) 263. 

O'CaUaghan, J. C 298. 

Odilon-Barrot, 358. 

Orientale, 21. 

O'Buarc, Song of, 189. 

Our Dear Native Island ;^( Music, No. V.) 134. 

Paddy M*Bory ;— (Music, No. XV.) 318. 

Paisdin Fumne; — (Music, No. IX.) 198. 

Peep at Pbris, a, 174. 

Pyrenees, Stories of the ; No. IV. 50. 

Bivals, the, 288. 

Bocky Boad to Dublin ;— (Music, No. XIII.) 
260. 

Bowan, Life of A. Hamilton, (Beviewed) 39. 

Bussian Officer, the, 207. 

Serenade, 145. 

Song, 357. 

Song of the Streams ;— (Music, No. XVIII.) 367. 

Stanzas, 49, 106, 145, 259, 269.279. 

Stories of my Foster Father, 255. 

Stories of the I^enees, 50. 

Taylor, Dr. W. C. 263. 

Thiers, 226. 

Thoughts on Things at Home and Abroad, 107. 

Titmarsh's Paris Sketch Book, (Beviewed) 174. 

Turbulence in Ireland, 240. 

Wearing of the Green; — (Music, Nos. II. and 
XIV.) 66, 318. 

Wexford Betreat, the, 116. 

Willis, N. P. 190. 

Wills, Bev. James, 298. 

Venice, 13. 

Viceroy, the, (Beviewed) 219. 

Violin, Air for the;^Mu8ic,'No. UI.) 63. 



ADVERTISEMENT 



TO THIN THIED VOLUME. 



Thb Proprietors of the CITIZEN take the present opportunity o{ 
acknowledging the warm and zealous support they have received from all 
sections of the Public. No effort on their part shall be spared to ensure a 
continuance of the good opinion the Citizsn has hitherto won. A proof of 
their anxiety to render it a Journal in every respect truly national, will be 
found in the arrangements they have made for giving in all future numbers, 
foiihmU any additional charge^ a selection of Irish Melodies, chiefly such as 
have never before been published, with Vocal and Instrumental accompani- 
ments, and new and original words. The Citizen will thus, in addition to the 
political, literary, and scientific claims on support, which the Public have 
already so promptly and generally recognised, possess the novel attraction of a 
valuable and popular collection of National Music. For the style and manner 
in which this portion of the Work will b^ e^cecnted, it is only requisite to refer 
to the specimen contained in the present number* 

DubUn, 20^ Decinier, 1840. 



THE CITIZEN; 



A MONTHLY JOURNAL 



4lf iPoUtie0t ^iUvatnvt, unh ^rt 



No. XV. 



JANUARY, 1841. 



Vot, III. 



THE ELECTIVE FRANCHISE. 



PART III. 



Wb take up this subject after some inter- 
val ; aa interyal big with events vital to the 
issue before us — ^an interval in which the 
question of the present state and future pros- ' 
pects of our elective franchise, has occupied 
the constant and unceasing consideration 
alike of the Irish people and of their enemies. 
The time has been busily employed in many 
ways^ in watching the movements of the 
haters of the nation, and in warding off the 
ruin with which they endeavoured in the 
last session of parliament to bear down our 
rights ; in struggling to preserve thQ rem- 
nant of electond power which the present 
state of the law leaves lis ; in determining 
well the position which it behoves us to 
take in our onward march for the future. 

In former numbers, we investigated, in all 
their details, the defects of, first, our coun- 
ty*, and, secondly, our town franchises f; we 
traced those defects up to their causes ; and 
we exposed the shallowness of the principles 
upon which they have been based. 

In what we so collected, we do not by any 
means presume to say, that we have brought 
forward any new views of the subject. The 
great bulk of our readers are familiar as we 
can be with the various matters we have 
submitted to their view. Where is the 



• No. I. ToL !. p. 42. 
fNo.ILSUd.p. 84a. 



man who loves his country and respects its 
population, who has not long since felt the 
iniquity of the system of the county occu- 
pation franchises, which declares, in every 
case, that the tenant in occupation, no matter 
how much he may contribute to the public 
burdens or the benefit of his fellowmen, shall 
be unenfranchised, unless he can prove that 
he has some certain yearly value (£10 or 
£20) (wer and dbove the rent and charges 
to which he is liable ; liabilities which, we 
have shown, in place of tending to his 
disfranchisement, ou^ht to establish his 
right? Where is me citizen so dull, 
as any longer to think of submitting to 
have the elective right of the inhabitants 
of our soil tested by the abominations of 
feudalism, or to place it under the caprice of 
the landlord class, by making " freehold" or 
'* leasehold," or any arbitrary standard of 
tenure the foundation of the voter's qualifi- 
cation ? Where is the being amongst us so 
senseless, as to suppose that we can longer 
endure the galling mockery exhibited in the 
administration of the electoral law at our 
registration courts — "with their quiddits — 
their quillets — their cases — their tenures, 
and their tricks ?" With their "construc- 
tions," — that " the dear yearly value" of a 
productive holding is not the clear average 
annual balance between the cash received 
dkectly for its annual produce, and tha 



THB BLECnVB FRANCHISK. 



Actual and necessarv annual cost and charges 
of production ? — that a provision, that a 
man may caiue a document to be produced, 
means that he must personally appear with 
it? that an enactment, that a right shall be 
admitted ''without further proof or oath/' 
lueans, that the party must unmediatcly ap- 
pear and make oadi? — ^that partners are 
excluded by a clause enfranchising every 
male person who holds and occupies a house, 
warehouse, counting-house, or shop ? — that 
the same words, in a given sentence, namely, 
" all persons now by law entitled to vote," 
extend to classes of persons for ever, if you | 
apply them to Protestant corporators ; but 
to individuals entitled in 1832 only, if you 
apply them to Catholic citizens ? — that a pri- 
vate meeting of judges in chamber, mooting 
points on a modem act of parliament, is, for- 
sooth, "the ancient Court of £»cheqaer 
Chamber ?" — and the like rubbbh ! 

No — we have been making no novel dis- 
closures in the expositions we have been 
givmg of the state of our elective law. We 
have been merely recapitulating the wrongs 
under which our country bleeds, and with 
which all of us are fioniliar : — 

We tell yon that, which 70a yoonelvee do know : 
Show you sweet Erin's wonnds, poor, poor dumb 

months. 
And hid them speak for us. 

But we have thought it right, and our dutjr, 
to place the whole truth of the case, as it 
were upon record, before our readers. We 
have done this, not sparing painful research 
in the antique histoiy of the common law 
itself, and in the multitudinous mazes of the 
statute law through long ages past, tracing 
all down to the present day. We have ran- 
sacked the stores of the existing practice, as 
it is found to prevail, in England, and in 
Scotland* as well as amongst ourselves. We 
have analysed the legal provisions on which 
our meagre franchises depend, and we have 
made plain the perversions of the law main- 
tained by the benched actors in the farce of 
Irish registration.'*^ 

Let no man say, then, that in now pro- 
ceeding to put forward opinions upon this 
subject, we have formed them in ignorance 
of the complicated laws upon which we treat, 
or that toe have left the public in the dark, 
here or in Britain, as to tne fiicts essential to 
ground a judgment Not only have we 
giveiv these details — ^we have submitted 



* We shall not soon forget that our printer upon 
one occasion, with most felicitous hlttnder» called 
this (registration) << rejection." 



them (to those willing to read them,) in 
full and connected form, for a period of, 
now, about a twelvemonth. 

In the meantime the atrocious and revolt- 
ing bill, produced by Lord Stanley,— upon 
which be lavished so much of his eminent 
energy, ability, and power, hitherto, happily, 
in vain — ^roused the kingdom frtim one end 
to the other. We lent our aid to avert the 
destruction which he aimed at the Irish 
constituencies. But even the excitement so 
produced has had time to abate ; and it must 
now have abated. If it were at all dispropor- 
tionate to the injustice which aroused it. 

The extinction of the octennial registries 
of 1832, in the close of the ^earjnst ex- 
pired, now presents a damnmg conunent 
upon the fraudulent representations of the 
supporters of that iniquitous measure. It 
is now plain and patent to the whole worid, 
that the Irish constituencies, under the sys- 
tem which has been at work, are returned to 
an amount atteriy insufficient to maintain 
the independence of the countxy. 

As the statements of fact in our preceding 
articles were no novelties to the nation — so 
the opmions we are now about to submit will 
not be fotmd, by any means, new or surpris- 
ing. The fact is, Thb Irish Pkoplb hate 

MADB UP THBIR MIND. It is nOt for 

Universal Suffrage. No; nor even for 
Household Suffimge. Those are schemes, 
which the further progress of the conntiy 
may render worthy of consideration at a 
future day. Nopenanin Inland now ad" 
voeaUi eUker ike one or the otker. 
The case is this : — 

A new law— -we hesitate not to say, a 
wise law — ^has subjected the whole country 
— ^in its length and its breadth — ^to taxadon 
for the benefit of the poor of the land. For 
the purpose of that taxation the possession 
of every occupant is valued — ^rated — ^taxed. 
The valuations, undoubtedly, are as yet 
imperfect ; but even in the infancy of the 
thing they are hy far ike mui nearly per- 
fed of any standiupd of liability yet known 
amongst us. Even as they stand* the call b 
universal — ^that all other valuations for tax- 
ation shall be modeled upon them. But 
more — they are capable of — ^they are open 
to— continuous correction and improvement ; 
they are subject to a system of revision, 
supervision, and control, both local and 
central, which cannot fail within a short time 
to render them at nearly peifed as any 
human reium canpoaihly he made. 

The whole nation has had its attention 
intently fixed upon this matter; and sees, 
as clear as the light, that we have arrived at 



THE ELECTIVE FBANCHISE. 



the one thing needful — the perfect means of 
ascertaining, without trouble — ^^nthout refer- 
ence to form — beyond the reach of fraud or 
juggle, or " construction" — a complete self- 
acting registration of all the Umdjide occu- 
pants of property in our land ; rendering 
them subject, eyery man of them, to direct 
local taxation : and, with this, no cajolery, no 
attempt at argument can,in a free cotmtry, re- 
sist the just claim of every such tax-payer 
to have his voice and his vote in every pub- 
lic election holden within his locality. 

It may be objected, that the system is 
inadequate, as not necessarily afibrding a 
proper representation of the scientific classes, 
the workmg classes, and others. But as 
yet we are not in possession of the requisite 
means — a truth- telling, self-correcting, and 
unimpeachable register of the persons every 
where really and truly entitled to local re- 
cognition of right in each of those respects ; 
and there can be no reason why, on that 
account, we should delay in seizing upon 
that ground-work of right, in respect of 
actual occupancy of property, which circum- 
stances afford us. The old corporations and 
their guilds may have been in some measure 
intended to supply the test of franchise for 
.the working classes in towns ; but the mal- 
construction and perversion of them from their 
original intent, their exclusiveness and self- 
elective quality, had long unfitted them for 
such a function,and they have been swept away 
to a merited oblivion, with consent all but 
universal, and amid the execrations of man- 
kind. No new machineiy, for re-constructs 
ing the elements of industrial life into social 
and local order, has yet been discovered suf- 
ficient to answer the end proposed. And in 
Ireland, where the regeneration of manu- 
factures is yet in its infancy, we can afford to 
bide the course of time, which will yet, 
assuredly, both devdope and mature the 
means of attaining those rights, as well as 
eveiy other just thmg. 

It will not do to argue that a firanchise, 
''without the protection of tenure," as it is 
called, cannot be admitted until vote by bal- 
lot is first obtained. In a state where indi- 
viduals, here and there only, can make it ap- 
pear that they have all the other requisites 
of an aristocratic franchise, such as afflicts 
us, it is true that it would not be safe to re- 
move the protection — such as it is, — ^which 
fixed tenure may furnish — without giving 
some such substitute as the ballot. It is 
therefore that in England, the high fran- 
chise of £dO occupying yearly Tent-payers, 
adopted there at the proposition of Lord 
Chandos in 1832, — ^works so slavishly ill 



for the people, — so servilely well, for 
the Tory aristocracy. That franchise has 
not the armour of tenure, neither the 
cover of the ballot; but those are not 
the main causes of its weakness, — it lacks 
the strengtl), the support, the sustainmeut 
which numbers ever must inspire, and the 
respect which they ever must command. 
The Chandos voters in every English 
county are too many for the sound portion 
of the constituency, — ^they are too few for 
their own mutual protection. Were they 
banded in such force as were the Irish 
forty-shilUng freeholders of 1826 and 1828, 
they might not fail to stand, like them,high in 
moral independence and heroic political vir- 
tue. The worst land-despots cannot pro- 
ceed to oppress, eject, and ruin the ten- 
antiy x)f a whole country side. When, in- 
deed, they find an isolated voter without 
fellows to sustain him, — without neigh- 
bours to sympathise with him— they have 
means enough at hand to grind and ha- 
rass, distress and destroy him and his £50 
rent, — aye, even although "tenure" inter- 
pose. But numbers are strength: — 'tis 
nature prompts us, when we are many, 

" Mtttutts nt DOS 
Affectns, petere aniilinm et pnestare, Juberet ;-- 

laribas conjungere nostrifl 

Tectum aliud, tutoe vicino limine somnos 
TTt collata daret fiduda ; protQgere vnms 
Lapsnm, ant ingenti nutantem vulnere civem." 

The essential principles of such a friui- 
chise, (although by piece-meal only as it 
were,) are all long since known and recog- 
nized amongst us. It needs but a little 
expanding of the mind, — a little removing 
of the veil of prejudice, — ^to discover that no 
new thing is sought. 

We have already more than once shown 
that the Chandos franchise of the English 
Reform Act consists in this, in its essence. 
It has no feudal or other qualifications of 
tenure ; but it is objectionable in the two 
main points of its difference, first, — a neces- 
sity that the occupier should be subject to 
rent; and secondly, — a necessaiy amount 
of qualification, which, by renaering the 
constituency nanow, makes them depen- 
dent. 

The town franchises under the Reform 
Acts, in all the cities and boroughs in Eng- 
land, Scotland, and Ireland, sending mem- 
bers to parliament, embrace this prin- 
ciple ; they require no tenure in the occu- 
pants of the houses and shops. But they 
nave not the simple principle that the rate 
makes the voter, — there must be the set va- 

A 2 



1BK BLBCriVfl FRANCHISB* 



lue^ — die opinion whether or not the set 
value is proved,— the douht whether the 
tenant is of the description prescrihed, and 
the puzzles ahout all the other vexatious 
niceties in registration which we have de- 
scribed. 

The municipal franchises now at length 
conceded in all the three countries, come 
still nearer to the mark, — ^in England, close^ 
ly and generally, — ^in Ireland, owing to the 
persecuting hatred of the English aristoc- 
racy against our name and nation, distantly 
and sparingly. But no calm thinker can 
look upon these distinctions as any thing 
but temporaiy* The rights of citizenship 
cannot be for ever con&ed to the inhabi- 
tants of our towns merely ;~and there has been 
a progress in events during the last ten 
years, which, though it may have seemed 
tedious to us who have lived through 
them, and panted as we watched impatiently 
the seeming-slow accomplishment of our 
wishes; yet, upon a retrospect, first, — of 
what was gained against feudalbm over the 
oppression and monopolies of the privileged 
during the two hundred years that went 
before ; and then, — of the gains within those 
last ten years, — ibis, our progress, cannot be 
viewed otherwise ths^ as a glorious triumph, 
inspiriting the heart with the hope of future 
victories decisive, popular, and peaceful. 

In Ireland we have a still earlier recogni- 
tion of a general town franchise than even 
England possesses, in the act of 1828, (9 
Geo. IV. c 82) for the lighting, cleansing, 
and improving of our country towns, — the 
basis of which is local rating, and which 
has only Adled of complete success because 
the rate prescribed happened to be the odi- 
ous vestry tax ; but for which, we have now 
reason to hope that we shall immediately 
see substituted the rate for the relief of the 
destitute poor. 

It cannot be objected that, by adopting 
the poor rate, paupers will be enfranchised. 
The law which foimds the rate provides 
against it, — such persons are exempt, and 
are not to be m'jed. The test then will be 
complete, both m its comprehensiveness, in- 
cluding fidl genuine rate-payers, and in its 
accuracy, excluding all fictitious claimants. 

" Whoso enjoys the advantage let him also 
bear the burthen," is an old maxim of the 
law, and upon it rests the equity of all tax- 
ation. But the converse is not less the 
maxim of the ancient law, (1 Co, 99, a.) — 
qui ientii anus, Mniire debet et commoium; 
and this is an equity upon which the right 
to r^iesentation is irresistable. As soon 
as we have gained then, as we now have, a 



certain measure of our burthens, — one to 
which all direct taxation in Ireland is either 
actually reduced, or just about to be adapted, 
— it is no longer fitting that we should halt 
between two opinions as to the use to be 
made of it; we can no longer hesitate to 
declare that this must be assumed as the 
true criterion, — establishing the right to 
vote. 

The tendency of things has long been 
towards this point, and to it they must come. 
In the House of Commons it is not merely 
that men, who on all occasions unflinchingly 
support popular views, are for it, — man of 
h^n sides, foho claim credit for moderate 
views rather, have openly and boldly advo- 
cated and pressed fortoard the principle, — 
we name Sir Jephsm J^orreys on the Whi^, 
and Mr, Lmccu on the Tory side. 

The paltriness of the Reform Act and the 
miserable administration of the registration 
courts have digusted the minds of men of- 
plain sense ; and the doubly-refined petty- 
fogging of Lord Stanley's bill has proved 
too revolting for many even of those whom 
the feeling of party formally banded toge- 
ther in its 8upport,-7-nay, tnere is reason to 
believe that Sir Robert Peel himself is se- 
cretly convinced that '* to this favour we 
must come;'' to be sure he has no wish 
that the question should be touched, or the 
matter precipitated; but it is impossible 
not to see that to Lord Stanley's measure he 
a^orded no more countenance than party 
decency compelled. 

We are at a loss, then, at nothing more 
than the proceedings of some among our- 
selves, who, after investigating and demon- 
strating over again what the country is long 
and thoroughly convinced of, viz : — ^the gross 
insufficiency of our laws of franchise and 
registration — ^have gone to work, seriously, 
to propose an infinite number of small im- 
provements and minute alterations for the 
purpose of '' amending" a system radically 
defective in its construction. They might as 
well attempt to render the Castle of Dublin 
or the Tower of London as strong as the 
fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, by reparations of 
the walls and embattlements of the windows. 
These things may serve purposes to which 
they are proper. It will do well enough to 
amend them for the preservation of the rights 
of landlords and reversioners, whose existence 
is in their tenure, and whose privileges are 
onlydiscemable through an artificial medium, 
adapted to the discovery of their feudal qua- 
lities. But the occupation fi'anchise of a 
people is not of this description,— -its bul- 
warks are to be based upon broad foundar 



THE BLEGTIYS FRAN OHISE. 



tions, and the rock of its honour must he 
raised on a great scale,— a fortress, mani- 
fest, enduring, impregnable. 

Some may nihble at the proposition and 
say, " this is a system yet untried in Britain ; 
why do you not propose it for England, or for 
Scotland P or at all events, why not wait un- 
til it be tried there first, where some sort 
of a poor-law has been so much longer in 
operation ; where it may therefore with more 
propriety be sooner put in experiment ? and 
then, if it be found to answer there, it may 
be transplanted hither, and its working tried 
in our soil." 

The answer is plain and cog^t. The 
dififerences between the two countries require 
it more urgently for Ireland^ and demand, 
that if it be tried in one country before its 
introduction into the other, Ireland should 
be that country. 

Britain, compared with Ireland, is essen- 
tially an aristocratic coimtry. It is thickly 
inhabited by a wealthy and powerful nobility, 
— a numerous and wide spread noblesse and 
baronetage, — an ancient and indigenous, 
seignorial and estated hereditary gentry. 
Except in the large manufactiuing towns 
this high-bom and gorgeous aristocracy, as 
it pervades, so it influences and commands 
the whole frame of society, drawing withui 
the sphere of the. action of its own "wealth, 
rank, intellect, talent, and respectabiUty," 
the great mass of the "wealth and rank," and 
much of the "intellect, talent, and respecta- 
bility" of the other orders of society. At 
first sight these appear to form no part of 
the association, but they are every where 
more or less absorbed into it. To these, 
the existing system of registration is per- 
fectly genial. Their claims are undispu- 
ted, — ^their influence is paramount. 

Besides, in places where the power and 
authority of those " higher orders arct more 
circumscribed, the state of the franchise 
has given to the people less occasion for 
discontent. Their forty-shilling fireeholders 
never have been disfranchised. Their £50 
rent-payers have been admitted. Joint 
tenants,^-tenants in common, and in part- 
nership, never have been excluded. Part- 
ners in towns vote, without stint or limit 
on account of joint trading. Successive oc- 
cupation of difierent houses, shops, or ware- 
houses, in the same elective district, is as 
sufficient as a continuing in one identical 
spot. The law has numerous provisions for 
placing and continuing men's names on the 
register of voters without trouble, cost, or 
risk' to themselves, — nay, sometimes without 
their seeking ; and^ in consequence, their re- 



gistries, compared with ours, are eyer3rwhere 
considerable ; therefore, — ^though we do not 
mean to say that the people of England or 
of Scotland have not much to complain of 
in the state of their franchise and registra- 
tion laws, — yet, their case forms by no 
means so great a grievance; and accordingly, 
with some exceptions, the cry for a new 
reform has not yet been raised amongst 
them to any intolerable height. 

But what is the comparative state of 
Ireland P A nominal peerage of two hun- 
dred men, — ^more than one-third of these 
having no connection whatever with the conn- 
txy, save by name, or some empty title,-* 
and more tnan two-thirds of the remainder 
having either no residence on the properties 
they hold, — or seldom visiting them,*— occa- 
sionally, and by necessity, — end then, even, 
with an undisguised distaste. The noblesse 
and baronetage, and the hereditary gentry, 
for the most part, like the great lords, 
absentees, — few, where they are even to be 
foimd, and when found, far between. In 
their visitings, they mix little, or not at all, 
in society ; and where they have any small 
following in their association, it is desti- 
tute of " wealth, worth, talent, learning, and 
respectability." And amongst whom are 
those few hundreds to be found P Amongst 
a population of millions, with whom they 
have not, and wish not to have any bond of 
sympathy. 

The practice of feudal donation after 
conquest, upon the Anglo-Norman invasions 
of the Irisn territory; and afterwards, the 
system of forfoitures and wholesale patent - 
grants upon forfeiture, down to the ena of the 
seventeenth century, — ^made, (nearly with- 
out exception,) to a race alien to this coun- 
try, — ^laid the foundation of this state of 
things. The policy of the great proprie- 
tors, (no matter what their incumbrances 
and embarrassments,) never to tell, but ever 
to lecue their lande at rack rents, and, by 
enforcing payment of rent, to obtain the 
means of fighthig and struggling with cre- 
ditors, — sometimes bafliing them, — some- 
times beating them out,— enabled those first- 
class monopolizers to preserve amongst 
themselves the dominion of the soil, to an 
extent unknown in any other country in 
western Europe. But at the imion of 1800, 
the dissociation was completed. The mea- 
sure of imperial policy then carried, cut the 
slender ties which still, for some purposes, 
served to hold the inheritors of the soil in 
connection with their estates and the men 
who peopled them. Those who had not 
been of the old absentees then began, one 



THE ELECTIVE FRANCHISE. 



after another, to expatriate themselves ; and 
now, forty years having elapsed, we find 
the chain all but severed, — the few links 
that remain being incapable of continuing 
the bold ; and it only remains to be seen« — 
when it snaps, — ^will they cling to the side of 
the land they have belonged to, or mil they 
follow the mass of their '* order," long since 
departed from her shores. 

There is, then, an utter dissimilarity in 
the state and condition of property, m Ire- 
land, and in Britain. A franchise which may 
still meet a sufficient quantity of ircneral 
approval there, not to raise dissatisfaction, 
discontent, and heart-burnings, will no longer 
answer here — ^its time has passed by — its 
days are numbered. 

But it is not, merely, that the feudal sys- 
tem has tlius failed adequately to popular- 
ize itself in Ireland, so as* to admit of longer 
continuing the attempt to engraft the firan- 
chise of the people upon its antiquated 
stalk ; — ^the indigenous disposition, habits of 
thinking, and ingrained notions of right and 
equity in the people of Ireland are wholly 
and essentially unfeudal,— -unaristocratic — 
social. 

The landlord made his lease, long ago, 
for the lives of a father and two infant sous, 
to the father " and his heirs," in good set 
phrase of English law. The father dies.— 
Does the eldest son usurp the whole, by 
right of primogeniture, because the father 
wrote no will ? No ; there is a widow, and 
several sons, and several daughters; the 
father, perhaps, on his death-bed, has given 
some verbal directions and advice ; they are 
religiously attended to, because their char- 
acter is paternal, and consonant to the 
notions and feelings of all his family. The 
widow remains in possession of a portion of 
the house, — ^with her furniture, a little share 
of the stock, and a few acres of the land, 
sufficient to ensure to her her usual comforts 
for the remainder of her days. The whole 
family arrange their shares happily together, 
— ^the girls are portioned and provided for 
out of the remaining stock and money, and 
the future earnings and savings of the boys, 
who make up, or take upon themselves, " the 
marriage portions'* agreed upon ; and then 
make an equitable distribution of the land 
amongst themselves, subject to those ar- 
rangements. Perhaps a brother-in-law, if 
there be one, is admitted to a share ; and 
perhaps a brother, who has put himself to a 
trade, accepts, instead of land, a part of the 
money and moveables for his '* divide." But 
all is mutually, honestly, and ungrudgingly 
agreed to. If a difference arise, some just 



neighbour is appealed to, and his " saying** 
ends it. Suppose the case, that the eldest, 
upon the father's death, sets out to the assizes 
town,~consults Torney This, or gets the 
wiitten opinion of Counsellor That — ^some 
well-deserving pillar of the law — who tells 
him, that his widowed mother has no right to 
her garden ; that his brothers and his sisters 
have no shai*e or right in the land ; that it is 
all his : — 

*' The court awards it, andtlie law doth give it:** 

that he may turn them out by the shoul- 
der — all — that night — and seize it— 4ill — 
for his ovm sole use and benefit; for he is 
** the heir :"— 

" The law allows it, and the court awards it:" 

Is there an Irish peasant who will go 
home and do it ? The Englishman does- 
there they " obey the . law ;** and go by the 
law ; it is their own ; it grew up amongst 
them ; and they are satisfied with it But in 
Ireland, the Breitheamh* law respected the 
equable partition of property; and although 
tluit code has been extinct for centuries — a 
law long unadministered by courts, — its 
righteous and natural principle, in the cus- 
tom of dividing estates among children, 
lives in the hearts and prevails in the dealings 
and habits of the native people. 

The property-laws and the properfy-firan - 
chise-laws then, of England, are alike mi- 
suited to them. 

There are, besides, circumstances in the 
present state of Ireland which render the 
extinction of tenure, as an adjunct to pro- 
perty qualification, desirable for the very 
scike of extending the grant of tenure. 
This will seem, to a British reader, paradox- 
ical. ' Amongst ourselves it is plain enough ; 
but it is nothing but the anomalous state of 
the relation between landlord and tenant, (so 
familiar to our minds,) which makes this 
seeming parodox appear to us almost a 
truism. The solution is this: — the pro- 
prietors of the soil, throughout the greater 
part of Ireland, are combined in a firm 
league — tacit, indeed, in many cases, but, in 
many also, express, — not to grant, to the oc- 
cupying tenantry of their estates, any teuuro 
of their lands, sufficient now to qualify 'them 
— or likely, as they suppose, to be made, by 
any change of the law, sufficient to quali^ 
them her^ter. This produces an unnatural 
and overstrained withholding of tenure over 



*The native Irish Judge, uroally written 
•• Brehon." 



THB ELECTIVE FRANCHISE, 



the whole country. The consequences ore 
ruinous — ^it needs no argumentation to show, 
that men — deprived of all permanent interest 
in the soil they occupy — tenants at the 
mere will of their lords, — liable to be ejected 
yearly, under the summary process which 
follows upon a well-])enned " notice," given 
in the usual pertinent terms, " to quit, at 
the end of the year of your tenantcy, which 
shall expire next after the end of half-a-year 
from the time of your being served with 
this notice*' — ^it is plain that men so circum- 
stanced, — cannot be expected to improve their 
fJBLrms with much advantage either to them- 
selves or to the community they live in. A 
country may stniggle on where such cases 
occur ; but where the amount of property 
thus drcumstanced is daily and steadily en- 
creasing — and is likely, before long, to com- 
prise the nine-tenths of our land, owned in 
perpetuity by proprietors miscalled ''con- 
gervadve — me effect must be the utter dis- 
couragement of tillage— the conversion of 
Ireland back again into a land of pasture 
merely — and the total overthrow audundoing, 
probably within the second quarter of the 
nineteenth centiury, of all that was effected 
with much care, pains, and labour of the 
Irish legislature during the latter half of the 
eighteenth century, and of all that followed 
upon the peculiar events which fostered our 
agricultural advancement in the first quarter 
of the present. 

But let the temptation thus held out, by 
the state of the franchise-law, to the with- 
holding of long tenns, be once removed, and 
every thing of the kind will speedily find its 
natural level ; length of title will be con- 
ferred, as the joint and mutual interests if 
both parties require it, irrespectively of poli- 
tical views, or the quackery of partizanship ; 
and then, by the encrease of substantial 
tenures throughout the country, the inde- 
pendence of the voters will follow no less 
steadily and generally, than the numbers of 
the voters are now diminishing and dwin- 
dling, daily, towards complete extinction. 

Beyond ^e reasons, of roecial force and 
application, which w^e have tnus far adduced, 
there are still wider — ^more momentous, 
and more uigent considerations to be at- 
tended to. Thoy arise from the essential 
character of the Irish people, attested by 
history. 

There is no people more patient, more en- 
during. Thev will bear, in private calamity 
and public misfortune, to an extent unpar- 
alleled. Thear rebellions, under the English 
and British, compared with theur provoca- 
tions to rebeUion firom misgoverament, have 



been but few and (riliing. So seem, to those 
who look to, and know, and feel for their 
wrongs, (seeing that they are ground to tlie 
eaith) — so seem their uprisings against their 
private oppressors. It is remarkable, that, 
under the most hopeless sufferings, they are 
no suicides as the English are. We say it 
in no Pharisaical spirit, and merely to record 
a curious and important fact. The crime is 
unknown among them. Why ? Because they 
will endure to Uie last. While there is life, 
they hope. Again, it is no less remarkable, 
that, when the ray of certain hope once 
beams upon them, the effect is electric. It 
needs but that they should understand the 
means — ^perceive that their cause is right 
and just — and see clearly that the accom- 
plishment is within their own power— 4uid 
then, it is not in a district, here or there, that 
the effect is to be found-^it flies through the 
whole land, animates, energizes, and pos- 
sesses all. 

If we go back far, in tracing instances of 
this national characteristic, we are not there- 
fore to be sneered at by those who, (as Lord 
Plunket forcibly expressed it,) look upon 
history as no better than an old almanack. 
We invent nothing : — 



bilem ant rigmn fortisse qaibasdaia 



Movermt, at mendax aretalogna ; 

but, even though certain atxabilarious gentle- 
men may scoff, we think it no whit the less 
important to note the evidence canying us 
back to the remotest period within our ken ; 
for the farther back it is, that proof is found 
of the existence of a decided character in a 
people, the more reason we have for believ- 
ing that modem exhibitions of the same 
clmracter are, not bubbles of casual ebul- 
lition merely, but the result of fixed, settled, 
and deep-seated causes. 

Upon the introduction of Christianity 
into Ireland, when the holy Patrick appeared, 
the people flocked to him*-the sacrifices to 
Baal were abolished— the idols were des- 
troyed — and^ in an incredibly short space 
oftifM, the rdiffian of the blessed Jems teas 
established throughout the country; in the 
north, in the souths in the east, and in the 
west. 

Among the ancient Irish, none were de- 
graded in slaveiy-^the Breitheamh law al- 
lowed it not. In England, at the same 
time, slavery was common, and the mer- 
chants brought th^ir English slaves to 
Irdand, and sold ihem. The bad neigh- 
bourhood of bad men subjected Ireland to 
conquest. The aflUctipn of the cruel Nor- 
man invasion iiras sore upon the land ; the 



8 



THB ELECriVB FBANCHISE. 



people were afhdd with great amazement, 
and said, — " It is a scourge sent by God to 
pmiish us for our sins." So, they held a 
council at Armagh, and came to the opinion 
that the misfortunes of the country were 
owing to their wickedness, in buying slatfes 
of the English merchants. And, instantly, 
ewrywhere, all ths English held in bond- 
age were restored to liberty. The people 
acted nobly, gloriously, and with a holy 
fear. Alas ! they knew not the full extent 
of the social law of our nature, and the 
])enalties which follow its infringement; 
they saw not, that a nation is interested and 
bound to advance the cause of social order 
in other communities — just as the indiridual 
is with his neighbour — and that it is as dan- 
gerous to be indifferent to a system of buc- 
caneering in the one case, as to habits of 
slave-holding, thieving, or robbery hi the 
other. 

The long oppression of the nation, which 
followed, worked no suppression of the na- 
tional character. It awoke, with the regene- 
ration of the country ; ' and 1782 beheld 
created, as by a miracle, the powerful and 
peacefid armament of the Irish vohuiteers. 
It VMS universal as it was rapid, and the 
independence of Ireland was achieved. 

Again, at the institution of the Catholic 
rent, it was a demonstration, that, from the 
smallest individual means, amongst united 
millions, there could be created an element 
of vast power, by a mode of action perfectly 
legal, and requiring only complete combina- 
tion. The national organization was formed 
at once. It had not subsisted long, when 
the thought occun*ed, that the law which 
prevented Catholics from sitthig in parlia- 
ment did not prohibit the people from re- 
turning them to the bar of the House of 
Commons, and all Ireland was ready to have 
acted upon the thought, and to have sent 
none else thither — the Clare election came ; 
and the experiment, though tried but in that 
one instance, was so complete and so suc- 
cessful, against the bitterest opposition and 
most tremendous obstacles, that that eff'ort 
alone, in the return of Daniel O'Connell to 
the Imperial Parliament, achieved the blood- 
less victory of emancipation. 

Shall we say nothing of " passive resist- 
ance," which with such rapidity first extin- 
guished the odious vestry cess, and then a 
portion of the tithe; and would have destroyed 
the whole, had not a change in the law shifted 
the legal burden to the landlords, and thereby 
taken away the means of continuing the 
organized resistance from the occupiers P 
Shall we say nothing of the things that are 



passingbeforeour own eyes, when hundreds of 
thousands, heretofore the victims of an odious 
system of revenue, (which, for the sake of 
filthy lucre, inundated the country with mad- 
dening alcohol,) have rushed to meet the 
man, so justly stiled " the Great Apostle 
of Temperance," and pledged themselves 
against the use of all intoxicating liquors ? 
To these and other instances we might 
advert, and they show more than we have 
called them up to tell ; they prove that, in the 
present hour, Ireland has become essentially 
the country of the movement; and they por- 
tend, that, in it, an cUtempt to retard, tofrus- 
trate, or to damage the grant of social right 
and franchise — which the people see is justly 
to be conceded to them, has coTne teithin 
their reach^ and upon which they have set 
their hearts^ — must be in the highest degree 
perilous. 

No HALF MEASURE CAN NOW GIVE 
SATISFACTION. 

No cramping by imposing qualifications 
of "tenure," be that tenure long or short, can 
remedy the evil, or restrain the impulse of 
the national will. 

The idea thrown out, of still maintaining 
some certain measure of value " over and 
above rent and charges,*' and using the 
poor law valuation as the test of such value, 
would be no less unsatisfactory ; it would be 
absurd, even though it should be no more 
than a reduced fi^chise of forty shillings. 

The poor-law act had no sooner been 
passed, than it might easily have been pre- 
dicted that a low scale of valuation of pro- 
perty would be adopted generally under it : 
a valuation not only far below the amount 
which a farmer, by hired labourers, using 
ordinary industry in the usual course of the 
husbandry of his ground, would be able to 
dear out of it, one year with another ; but 
far below the estimate, in matter of opinion, 
which might be made by a man acquednted 
with the rent actually paid, as to the 
probable rent, over and above the actual 
rent, which a solvent tenant might be found, 
or could afford with justice to himself, to 
pay for it ; in other words, far below either 
the " beneficial interest," as it is called, or 
the " solvent tenant" probable rent, as sworn 
to under the act of 1829, 10 Geo. IV. c. 8. 

In the first place, all the usual causes 
of depreciation in making a valuation, to be 
used for the purposes of taxation, would 
operate. Upon such occasions, no man in 
ordinary life makes high estimates. This is 
the case even where relative value is not the 
question. For instance, amongst notaries pub- 
lic, it is a well-known and established usage. 



THE ELECTIVE FBANCHISfe. 



9 



when they are valuing property for the pur- 
poses of stamp duty (such as upon probates, 
intestacies, and the like,) never to certify to 
the full probable price. But when several 
items are to be stated at their comparative 
value, new causes of depreciation operate. 
The moment any one happens to be entered 
at a moderate estimate, every body else cries 
out, " Oh I I am rated too high ! look at 
this, and compare us." Nobody is inclined 
to the unkind course of asking " why don't 
you raise it on neighbour Luckydog ?" Mr. 
Goodfellow will prefer saying, *' our friend 
here is all right — fairly dealt with ; had you 
valued my house as his, you should have 
had no complaints — strike £20 off me, and 
then all will be quite proportional." The 
valuator thinks to himself," so far as thecess to 
be imposed in consequence of this valuation 
is concerned, it is really all one, whether all 
these tenements are stated at their utmost va- 
lue, or whether one-half, one-third, one-fourth, 
or any other proportion is knocked off all ge- 
nerally ;" for where all the value0 are propor- 
tionately encreased or diminished, the ulti- 
mate result as to the proportions of tJie cess 
is the same. He is, therefore, very easy 
with the parties in reducing and lowering his 
valuations ; and he finds that by so doing he 
makes himself extremely popular and agree- 
able. Every body imagines that he has 
been handsomely treated ; no one can say 
that an exorbitant amount has been fixed 
upon his property ; and the valuator is satis- 
fied that me cess will be fairly applotted. 

In the case of the Irish poor-law, there was 
a reason why these considerations ought not 
to have had so much weight with valuators as- 
in the case of any former assessment. This 
lay in the clause which directs that the land- 
lords and rent-receivers shall contribute to 
the tax ; they being made liable to the oc- 
cupiers, who alone are directly taxed, in a 
deduction of half the poundage-rate to be 
taken from each poimd of their rents. From 
that it follows, that if the occupants, gene- 
rally, be valued low, a ht^k potmdage-rate 
must be imposed, in order to produce the 
amount required for the general piuposes ; 
whilst if the occupants be valued higher, a less 
poundage-rate will suffice. The difference 
will be scarcely perceptible to the owners of 
small isolated properties; but to the pro- 
prietors of rich estates, and enormous tracts 
of country, so common in Ireland, the re- 
sult will soon be found to be serious enough. 

There have been, however, other causes 
which have contributed to make this state of 
facts hitherto almost wholly unobserved. In 
the first place, (he actual working of the taxa- 



tion has not at all become understood ; and 
the landlords, as a class, are so blinded with 
political fury and bigotry, and hatred of the 
people, that they have not yet even stood 
still to consider their own position. They 
know from the mimicipal bill and many 
other infallible symptoms, that rate and 
franchise are gradually becomuig — must and 
will become — correlative ; Lord Stanley and 
the bigots of England have raised in them 
the hope of substantially disfianchising the 
Irish tenantry ; and they have thought, that 
bv applying the rate as the test of value 
aiove rent, upon a franchise (such as the 
present,) they would succeed in the utter an- 
nihilation of tenant's political rights, which 
they view as nothing but nuisances. Hence, 
m place of attending to their direct inte- 
rests in the matter, and endeavouring to keep 
the standard of valuation up to its maxi- 
mum, they have evert/ tchere encouraged the 
valtiators rather to depredate the interests 
of the occupiers. 

If a landlord look at his case, simply, as 
between him and his tenant of twenty acres, 
Tim Murphy, who pays him twenty pounds 
a-year ; he says, " It is all one to my purse 
whether Tim is valued at thirty pomids or at 
thirteen ; for the poundage is six-pence, and 
whichever way it be, he, Tim, will deduct from 
me just the same twenty three-pences ; five 
shillings out of my rent. If he be valued 
at thirty pounds, there is a freehold in every 
sense of the word; whereas if it be only 
thirteen, off goes Tim's name from the re- 
gister of voters some fine morning ; at all 
events, after we get Stanley's bill." He has 
not reflected, that if all the Tims in the parish 
had been rated at the full value, the pound- 
age required would have been three-pence 
only ; and this deduction would have been 
no more than two shillings and six pence ; 
or twenty three-halfpences ; and so with all 
the Tims in the parish. 

To this it must be added, that the poor- 
law act has given very specific hints to the 
valuators, that existing valuations are to be 
looked to by them, and more or less fol- 
lowed. Now, what were these ? 

*' Minister's money" in cities and towns : — 
this until a late period governed all taxation, 
and still govenis much. It was struck at 
ONE-SIXTH of the computed annual value 
at the time of valuation ; that is, sometime 
between the reign of Charles II. and yester- 
day. 

" Grand jury cess :" — this was founded 
upon ancient customary valuations, the 
origin of which can not be ascertained ; and 
although frequently most capridous, and 



10 



THE BLBCrriVE FBANCHI8E. 



much legislated against, they have stOl very 
generally withstood the attacks upon them. 
They are often under a tenth of the pre- 
sent value, upon any principle of estimation. 

" Tithe compositions :" — these valuations 
were made at diiferent periods, from 1823 ; 
hut under no system, and in such a manner, 
that every influence, regular and irregular, 
has operated upon them, so as to have ren- 
dered them utterly unfit for adoption in any 
instance* 

" The ordnance survey" valuation was got 
up with more method ; hut the statutes which 
authorised it, contained express provisions 
that all lands should he ralued with reference 
to certain average prices of pfoduce, and all 
houses with a aeductton of one-third 
from the rent that could be got for them yf 
let by the year. 

With these, and other like documents he- 
fore them, the poor-law valuators would have 
heen hold men indeed, had they considered 
themselves at liberty to value wholly re- 
gardless of them. But they have dene no 
evch thing. 

The queer frame of the poor-law valuation- 
clanse and its schedule, likewise, has con- 
tributed to promote depreciation. It would 
be a strong measure to affirm, that the hand 
(head ? qiusre) which framed it, understood 
its meaning. It has plamly bothered their 
Highnesses, the Poor-law Commissioners; 
for although they have "published and 
caused to be published" rule upon rule, 
order upon order, essays, tracts, reports, and 
circulars, thev have no where furnished their 
valuators with the smallest due to show how 
the eight compound columns, which, we are 
told, intervene between the "net annual 
value** and the ** gross annual value," are to 
be understood ; in what manner the contents 
of them are to be inquired into ; or what use 
is to be made of them. 

Accordingly, Paddy, going about to value, 
candidly acknowledges — ^in a whisper to 
himself—that " it is all buz/* and the less he 
says about the matter the better. Here is to 
be the " gross" value, and there the " net" 
value, and, between, the eight columns. 
Well, the best way is to make the greatest 
possible quantity of deductions and allow- 
ances;— "all kinds and sorts." The eight 
ugly columns are to beJIUed up, and he 
does it with whatever figures come first into 
his head : he tots all up, and that makes 
the gross ; but if you press him, he mil tell 
you no lie; he netther knowe how he did it, 
nor why. 

The iact is now notorious, that the valua- 
tions have been made not only far below the 



annual letting value, but even (ar under the 
rents paid for the tenements, even where re- 
served under leases made many years ago. 
The valuators take the lowest possible stand- 
ard, and, even where uncontrolled by previous 
valuations, will admit nothing which a scni- 
pulonsly prudent, and even reluctant tenant 
would not at once undertake to pay, reserv- 
ing to hunself full remuneration for his time 
labour, and cimital. Accordingly, the valt^ 
ation, generally, is below the rental. 

That being the fact, we may say — as to 
value tested by the poor law, "over and 
above rent,"-^caJif quattio ; such a qualifi- 
cation would be a denial of firanchise to the 
whole occupying tenantry ; and no one bat 
a ninny or a knave will venture to propose it 

Let the qualification, then, of the occupy- 
ing tenant to vote depend upon nothing but 
the one simple test,— -the yALU ation of 
HIS property in the rate for the 
RELIEF OF THE POOR. This b what the 
people want— this is what they require. 
They demand thii, and nothing but thii ; 
and let all other echemee be §et aeide and 
abandoned. 

Let any provisions for the correction, im- 
provement, or extension of the poor law va- 
luation be made, which the experience of 
now three years may point out to be ex- 
pedient and proper. Let all notoriety be 
given for its mspection, amendment, and re- 
formation upon every rate ; but then, let it 
be final, as well for the liability of the oc- 
cupier in respect of taxation, as for his pri- 
vilege in respect of representation ; and let 
all regiitratton chicanery be prohibited. 

With regard to those who do not occupy, 
the law may well remain as it is under the 
Reform Act, ^ith this modification, that the 
claimant at the revision shall simply have 
to show, that in the district where his pro- 
perty is situate, he is charged or charge- 
able to pay rate for the relief of the poor, 
in respect of a profit rent of the required 
amount. This would exclude and nullify 
fictitious qualifications. All voters, whether 
occupants or rent-receivers, would then de- 
pend upon this one general test; and no one 
could complain, that men, thus contribut* 
ing to actual taxation, were any thing but 
voters, bond fide, entitled to theur franchise. 

We intimated to our readers at starting, 
that we should throw our eyes around 
among our neighbours, to know how matters 
of this description have been getting on 
amongst them, and to see at what point 
of comparative civilisation we have arrived 
by our noted Refonn Bill, about which so 
much noise has been made. The few in- 



TH£ ELECTIVE FRANCHISE. 



11 



stances, which we shall here throw together, 
will sufficiently prove how ranch we are be- 
hindhand, after all, in the attempt. 

In the admirable constitution of Norway, 
settled in 1814, the franchise of the people 
was arranged with that regard to the adop- 
tion of a broad and simple basis, which is 
essential to the stability of a popular insti- 
tution; we are indebted to Air. Leung's 
excellent work for the following account 
of it : — 

Eveiy native Norwegian of twenty-five 
years of agOt who has been for ^ve years 
owner or life-renter of land paying scat or 
tax, — or who is a burgess of any town, or 
possesses there a house or land to the value 
of one hundred and fifty dollars, (£30,) is 
entitled to elect. The country is divided 
into election districts, corresponding to 
counties, and subdistricts corresponding to 
parishes. Registers of the qualified voters 
in each sub-district are kept by the minis- 
ter, and also by the foged or baillie. 

The construction of the Storthing or le- 
gislature is singular. The whole body, when 
elected, divides itself into two houses ; the 
whole Storthing choosing (com among its 
members one-fourth, who constitute the 
Lagthing or Upper House, their functions 
resembling those of our House of Lords ; 
the other three-fourths constitute the Odels- 
thing or House of Commons, in which di- 
vision all proposed enactments must be 
originated. The entire number of the Stor- 
thing should not consist of under seventy- 
five, nor above one hundred members. The 
proportions are founded on the principle, 
that the towns of Norway should, as nearly 
as possible, return one-t&ird, and the coun- 
try two-thkds. The elective franchise is 
not inseparably connected with the place, 
bat depends on the number of electors in 
a place ; there being a self-acting principle 
of parliamentary reform, by which the elec- 
tive franchise is considered as a privilege 
belongmff to the constituency, according to 
the nun£erB dwelling m n place, and not a 
privilege attached to the place. Thus, when 
Mr. Laing visited Norway, the city of 
Drontheim had just the number of quali- 
fied electors to send four representatives. 
If the electors had been fewer, it would 
only have sent three, or Vko, or one, or 
even none, if its numbers of qualified vo- 
ters had been under fifty, and must have 
joined itself in that case, to the constituency 
of the nearest town, Christiansund, and elec- 
ted jointly with them.* 

* Lalng't Norway, chap. iii. pp. 116, 451. 



In France, by the last arrangement of 
its constitution, every Frenchman aged 
twenty-five years, enjoying his civil and 
political rights, and paying two hundred 
francs (£8) of direct contributions, is an 
elector. Members of the French Institute, 
and some others, need only pay one half 
of that amount. The contributions counted 
as direct are, the land tax, — ^the personal 
and furniture tax, — the door and window 
tax, — ^the taxes on patents, and every tax 
levied under the title oi" centimes addi- 
tionnels.'' 

From the 1st to the 10th of June, the 
mayors of the different communes, in their 
respective cantons, meet in the chief place 
of the canton, and there, with the aid of 
the collectors of taxes, revise the list of the 
preceding year. This list, with the obser- 
vations of the subprefect of the arrondisse- 
ment, is sent to the prefect of the depart- 
ment before the 1st of July, who in his 
turn revises it,— stating his reasons for the 
decisions he comes to. The list is (hen 
printed and deposited at the mayoralty of 
each commune, by the Idth of August. 
Any claims then made are judged by the 
prefect in council, — fronr whom there is no 
appeal but to a " cour royale," which, how- 
ever, is obliged to decide the case defini- 
tively and without expense.* 

To a certain extent this is rather a con- 
fined representation; it does not proceed 
from a sufficient number of those in whose 
hands the property of the nation is dif- 
fused ; that this is the case is a matter gen- 
erally acknowledged. Men of all parties 
seem agreed that it shall be extended ; the 
details of its enlargement are yet the sub- 
ject of deliberation.-)* 

In Belgium, by the electoral law for the 
formation of the Chamber of Representa- 
tives and of the senate, 3rd March, 1831, 
to be an elector it is necessary, — 

Fint, — To be a Belgian by birth, or to 
have obtained naturalization in full form : 

Secondly f — To be of the age of twenty- 
five years complete : 

' Thirdly, — To be a contributor to the 
state in a given quota of direct contribu- 
tions. These are counted for so much as 
the elector has contributed for the year an- 
terior to that in which the election takes 
place. In case of successive title, even this 
IS not required. Patents are comprised in 
the calculation. Contributions of the wife^ 



* The Monarchy of the Middle Glasses, by H. 
Ii. Bolwer, B. v. diap. xii. p. 904. 
t See the Journal dee B^bats, 1889, 1840. 



12 



THE ELECrnVlfi FRANCHISE. 



having community of goods, are comited 
to the husband, and those of minor chil- 
dren to the father having the guardianship 
of them. The qualification to the given 
amount is ascertained, either by an extract 
from the roll of contributions, or by the ac- 
quittances of die current year, or by the 
avertiuemenU of the receiver of contribu- 
tions. 

Tables are given, fixing diflerent amounts 
which shall qualify in different districts ; 
the highest amount is in the three great 
towns of firuxelles, Anvers, and Gaud, — 
eighty florins; the lowest in the country 
parts of the provinces of Luxembourg and 
Namur, twenty florins, — (£1 13s. 4a.) 

Simple and efl!ectual means are provided 
for registration. The electoral lists are con- 
sidered permanent, save where, upon an 
annual revision, names are erased or newly 
inscribed. The communal administrations 
(local boards elected by the people, see note 
A) revise annually, from the 1st to the Idth 
of April, the lists of the citizens of their 
commimes. They aflix them publicly for 
ten days, and they call upon those citizens 
who pay contributions in other communes, 
to apprise the local authorities of the fact, 
by a day, which they name, fifleen days dis- 
tant. Each list contains the date of the 
birth of each elector, and the place where 
he pays the required amount of contribu- 



NoTE (A) — The Commnnal Boards are com- 
posed of councillors elected by the assembly of 
the electors of the communes, and of a burgo- 
master and two or four sheriffs, {ichevins) named 
by the crown. In communes under 20,000 in- 
habitants, there are but two sheriff's. The number 
of councillors varies by a scale, — the lowest being 
nine in communes containing from 1000 to 5000 ; 
the highest thirty-one, in those containing 70,000 
inhabitants or more. Each commune has a secre- 
tary and receiver. The qualifications for commu- 
nal electors are, — to be a Belgian by birth or na- 
turalization, — of full age, — domiciled in the com- 
mune) at least, from the 1st of January preceding 
the election, and contributing, to the public, 
amounts, varying from fifteen francs, (say Us. 
3d.) in communes under 2,000 inhabitants, to )00 
francs, (say £S 158.) in those containing over 
60,000. Mothers and widows may delegate their 
rights of representation. The same care is taken 
for the revision of thes& lists as of those for gen- 
eral elections. The functions of these bodies are 
of considerable local importance. They, in fact, 
manage all the local revenues, and provide for all 
the communal interests, — subject, however, in 
more important transactions (all carefully defined) 
to submit them to the advice of the permanent de- 
putation of the provincial council, and the appro- 
bation of the crown. In this way they are bodies, 
having certain permanence, and performing all 
the fiscal acts of the Irish grand juries, and other 
local Isoards amongst us, — but under regulations so 



tions. Duplicates of the lists are open to 
public inspection, with the secretary of the 
commune, and the commissary of the dis- 
trict. If the communal board proceed to 
erase the name of an elector, they are bound 
to give him forty-eight hours notice in 
writing at his residence, informing him of 
their reasons. 

An appeal lies from the communal 
admuiistrations, to the permanent deputa- 
tion of the provincial council, (see note A.) 
Every individual unduly inscribed, omitted, 
erased, or otherwise injured, whose com- 
plaint has not been attended to below, may 
thus appeal, annexing the proofs in support 
of his complaint. In the same way, every 
individual, in the enjoyment of civil and po- 
litical rights, may complain of each impro- 
per inscription, annexing to his case proof 
that he has notified it to the party interested, 
who has ten days from the time of the no- 
tice to make answer to it The deputation 
of the provincial council must determine 
upon these points within five days after re- 
ceipt, or after the time for opposing ex- 
pires. Their decisions must be accompanied 
by the reasons for them Cseront mottv^ef), 
and are to be communicated to the parties. 

The opportunity of cassation is open 
from the decision of the provincial board, 
for five days after the notification to the 
parties interested. The procedure is sum- 



admirably devised and classified, as to make us 
feel our Anglo-Irish legislation to be a subject for 
mere shame and reproach. In each province 
there is a provincial council, elected for four 
years; i. e. one half every second year, and a 
commissary of the government who is governor 
of the province. This council is elected by tiie 
electors qualified by the electoral law, for the 
formation of the chambers, with some enlargements 
in supplementary lists, formed in the same manner 
as the principal lists. They select from among 
themselves a permanent deputation, consisting of 
six members. They deliberate, as well in the alv 
sence as during the session of the council, upon all 
that relates to the daily interests of the province; 
but their decisions are subject to be modified by 
the counciL It is their duty, at the opening of 
each provincial session, to submit a report called 
a memorial adminUtraHf, The sittings of the 
council are public, but they have a power of form* 
ing themselves into a secret committee. The 
general administration of the province is com- 
mitted to them, — comprising functions of the mo^t 
important character. 

By these institutions the internal economy of 
Bel^um is rendered, not only the most popular* 
but also, probably, the best regulated in the world. 

Manuel du Citoyen Beige, contenant la Contti' 
tution Belge^ la lot ilectorale, la loi eommMnale, h 
claeeijication tiee commtiMM, la loi provmcialef et 
le tableau de la repartitum de» ctmteilkrt provi»' 
ciaux, pp. 266. 



VBNICS. 



13 



maiy, and if cassation be pronounced^ the 
afiair shall be sent back. The commissa- 
riat of the district is bound to communicate 
the annual lists and corrections to all who 
wish to take copies. 

Belgium (containing 4^000,000 of inha- 
bitants) is divided into nine provinces, re- 
tuining one hundred and two representa- 
tives, and fifty *one senators,— divided among 
them by a proportional scale, which is set 
forth in the work we refer to (see note A.) 

Now, whi^t have tte ia our electoral 
law to compare with the institutions thus 
growing up around us in Europe P — 
Here are nations making no noise about 
their advances to true and solid liberty, — 
but settling the rights of their people upon 
the most perfectly methodized, sufficient, and 
simple basis; while we behold England 
almost shaking the globe to its founda- 
tions in the pother kicked up about " the 
bill, the whole bill, and nothing but the 
bill." And what is the fact, especially in 
the itep^ier ' gift made upon that occa- 
sion to Ireland,^- 

**Partiiriiuitinontes; nasceiur ridiculos musf" 

No sooner, too, is Miss Bull delivered. 



and recovered from the pangs which follow 
upon her labour, than she sets to — to bait a 
patent Iterfty trap, armed all over with prongs, 
and claws, and spikes, to catch and choke 
the little abortion, which, in her excessive 
good nature, she had allowed to creep into 
her sister's bosom. 

When Continental Europe comes to learn 
what this notorious Reform Bill really is, 
she will laugh it to scorn; and if Miss 
BuU, in her pride and conceit, is still ob- 
stinately bent to hold '* to the bill, the 
whole bill, and nothing htU the hill," it is 
high time for us to leave her alone dressing 
her dolls in her own baby house, — and ^ to 
demand some better occupation, — something 
that is worth pla3dng and working for, — 
and if we do, we may depend upon it, we. 
shailjind more re$pect amongH <wr bre^ 
thren eUewhere in the worlcL 

The notions of a franchise here thrown 
out (or rather brought together) are simple, 
efficacious, and founded ou common ngh% 
and justice. They are the wish and will 
of the great mass of the people. Let it 

BE OUR DETERMINATION THAT THAT 
FRANCHISE SHALL BS OUR& 



VENICE. 



FROM THE FRENCH OF MAD. MONTARAN. 



Adieu dear Venice ; thy departed sway 
Comes sad and shadowy o'er my heart to-day. 
Alas ! thy sculptured pride that yet remains 
Cannot conceal Uiy mourning and thy chains. 
The gondolier upon thy silent waves 
Weeps o'er the fortunes of a land of slaves. 
The wonted sprightly barcarolle is dumb. 

When Mom awakes, and Eve goes down in tears ; 

The shore, where rests the idle boat, but hears 
The insulting thunders of the German drum. 

Hath all been lost in hopeless thraldom ? no : 
Times will revolye, and fates still ebb and flow. 
Glory, Love, Power shall yet return to thee. 
And o'er thy cupolas St. Mark shall see 

Thy doge's famous banners flout the skies. 
Filled with the soul of better days, thy sons 
Shall crown thee yet with more triumphal crowns. 

Still let St. Mark and soft Madonna's eyes 
Protect thy glories, and the Book of Gold 
Receive thy noble names illustrious as of old* 



W.D. 



16 

parlour la your surcoat, and cloak, and 
muffler, contemplating, most monmfally, 
the cold-looking grate and colder bearth- 
stone, which Sally keeps scrubbing and 
mbbing for at least a quarter of an hour, 
and then anxiously watching the provoking 
process of ignition, which the match, and 
the brown paper, and the bit of dirty dipped 
candle, help to awaken for the benefit of 
your frozen shins. If you look out at the 
windows, there goes the lusty, purple-faced 
milkman, with his tin copper-hedged vessels, 
looking more like frigometers than any- 
thing else ; and now and again you hear 
the ringing of some area bell, and the mo- 
nosyllabic cry of his calling, — **milk,** 
Over the way, you see the hardy, sturdy 
little housemaids whitening the steps at the 
door, or reddening the flagged hall, or with 
flannel rag brightening up the brass plates 
and the knockers ; and some of them ac- 
tually enjoying a bit of flirtation with some 
flour-fificed, flour-coated statuary of dough. 
And with bag on his back, of smoky green, 
you observe the black-eyed, black-haired, 
Roman-nosed Jew, tramping along with 
steady tread, his sharp eyes on the sharp 
look-out for " a take" of old clothes, from 
the numerous lodging-houses round about. 
How shall I ever forget his sepulchral, his 
deep, his intra-thoracic and prolonged cry 
of •« Old Clo' ?" Did you not recognise his 
avocations, you would think it was << Old 
Cloe," — the lament of a distempered brain. 
Oh ! all is cold, cheerless, and dismal for a 
long, long half hour or three-quarters — aye, 
or an hour. At length, the toast (and de- 
lightfully made toast it is) appears, with 
the cold ham ; (for London eggs are very 
suspicious; you don't know how, or by 
what, or where, or when they were laid,) 
then the tea, which is of tolerable sloe- 
leaves enough, sends up its agreeable in- 
cense, and the chalk and water (the "milk*' 
of these streets) you pour into it for the 
purpose of making it SKy-blue, and, perad - 
venture, also to ** correct," as the doctors 
say, "the acidity" which your nightly wine, 
or gin, or imitation whiskey, or Anderton's 
ale, or all together, may have engendered in 
your Irish stomach. But, after all, you 
merely snap at a breakfast ; the cab is at 
the door, and yon must be off for the train. 
This rising early in winter is a great nui- 
sance, particularly if you have to travel. 
Mav it be long again till I have occasion 
to disensheet myself as I did on that bitter 
morning. 



FIBB-SIDB BAMBLINO0. 



THB riBS. 

** Thus sitting, and Burreying thus at Mte 

The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced 

To some secure and more than mortal height. 

That liberates and exempts me from them all 
• • • • 

While fancy, like the finger of a dock. 
Buna the great circuit, and is sliU at hmne." 

COWPEK. 

If you are alone, like me, in a bachelor's 
house of a winter's evening, how will you 
enjoy your fire I With its ruddy counte- 
nance and its flaming top-knot, it seemeth 
like some cheerful niend just seated near 
you, administering a flash or two to ligbt 
up your darkness, and a little of warmth to 
soften down the iciness that may have en- 
crusted your feelings. A reb'g^on of fire- 
light seizeth the soul ; you make a holo- 
caust of your cares as well as of your coals, 
and let them alike brighten into a blending 
of gladness. In a word, the various rela- 
tions for which I hold my fire dear to me, 
I am not in the vein (the truth is, I am not 
eloquent enough) to eulogise according to 
their deserts. Suffice it to say, they are 
beyond praise of mine. 

Many are there who, in the moments of 
solitariness, undertake to ''build castles'' 
in the fire I Certes, one may see — ^oes 
see, in red and burning outline, semblances 
of structures, castellated or otherwise ; sem- 
blances of machinery, of trees, of ani- 
mals ; nay, often periiaps have such sem- 
blances proved to be happy suggestions ; 
red hot hints, caught up at once by the si- 
lent student — the solitary artist; red hot 
stimuli to his inventive faculty. And here, 
let no one turn up the sceptical nose, for, 
let it not be forgotten, that Leonardo da 
Vinci scorned not to catch a design from 
the hearth, and was used to frequent old 
ruins for the purpose of observing the stains 
of centuries, the grand but frequently gro- 
tesque frescoings, the pictatorial allegories 
of Time upon the walls. These aided his 
notions of design, taught him a freedom of 
foliage or drapery, taught him the '' quasi 
per-accidens" touches we admire so much 
in the works of the best artists ; in short, 
the fire-side was his studio alternately with 
the ruin. Thus things intrinsically trivial 
will arrest the attention. Again, was there 
not somebody, I forget who, that took a 
hint of hydraulics from his — ^what, I ask 
you ? — in good sooth, from his tea*kettle I 
But I am not of these pyro-plastic en- 



riKE-rilDli llAMULlXt^sJ. 



17 



thasiasts ; these fine-flashing hints I never 
could ayail myself of, for the due cultiva- 
tion or furtherance of an art. In my tea- 
kettle, I could never see anything but a 
coming event which awaken eth palateable 
recollections. As for old ruins — but first 
listen to the hints, the only hints that I 
could ever take from their walls. Once 
about midnight, I was passing obe of these 
architectural relics — 'twas that of a church 
in a grave-yard, dropping there into its 
own grave. I was alone — the night win- 
try, the moon showing a cold, consumptive, 
deadly disc, and struggling to look amiable 
in the midst of its melancholy hectic. 
The dampness, and the chilliness, and the 
exhalations of vegetable, mayhap of animal 
decay too, taken in connection with the 
sickly moonlight, had, as it were, en- 
tered my pores, and thrilled through my 
heart the dreariest, deadliest of feelings. I 
am painfully susceptible of such impressions ; 
this was the time I could be most so. I am 
not a believer of aU that may be told of 
the nightly resurrections of the dead ; but 
I am a believer of the doctrine that a 
something can appear, let it come from the 
grave or beyond the grave. No wonder 
then that a feeling of awe should creep over 
me as I approached the ruin ; no wonder 
tbat my eyes should be strained with " the 
faith that is in me." They fell upon the 
ruin. Heavens I how shall I forget my 
suffering at that moment I Within the ruin 
they were ; these eyes saw them distinctly 
there — apparitions indubitably they must 
be ; these eyes saw them move, saw them 
heckon at me I An icy clamminess, like 
an inner garment, enclothed me ; my teeth 
at first chattered convulsively, then I became 
lock-jawed, my knees refused even to totter 
any longer, my heart-pulse sunk deep, 
deeply within me — I lost sight of every- 
thing — I reeled, I fell. How long I lay on 
the road I have no recollection ; but, as 
soon as I rallied, I essayed to get up, and 
finding I had strength enough to hazard an 
attempt to get home, I hurried away with 
the step of a maniac. I had now got about 
a hundred yards, when-^^nttck ! goes a shot, 
and — ^whizz — a bullet through my very 
ivhiskerl Heavens! what an escape. How 
are the innocent implicated in danger! 
The thought struck me 1 was pursued as a 
resurrectionist, and with almost a racehorse 
speed, a supernatural velocity, I fled along 
ttie road, never giving up tilil reached the 
town, and fell breathless at my own door. 
I said nothing of this to my friends, fearine 
tbo impatation of cowardicey &c. &c. 1 



began to think no more about it, till one 
day I attended the funeral of * * * 
who was buried in this very graveyard. I 
remembered at once the adventure upon 
viewing the old church ; but what did I 
find the apparitions to be that startled me 
almost to death ? Stains — ^uncouth patches 
of stains upon the walls I Leonardo da 
Vinci found not such lessons from stains, I 
promise you, as I did. 

If I cannot speculate on my fire as others 
may do and have done on theirs, still, when 
seated comfortably, I can enjoy it to the 
full as well as the monarch his kingdom. 
The " horse" standing by me with a card 
cloth thrown over it, I regulate the heat to 
any degree of Fahrenheit I please; yes, 
the '' hornei' for 'twas a cofiUre t&mpt to have 
furnished my house in summer, forgetting 
thereby to purchase fire-screens ; and Jo- 
hanna would lend me her << horse" to sup- 
ply the deficiency. Mayhap you have no 
idea of Johanna's horse ? Then know that 
her ''horse," though woodeny hath by no 
means the form or stature for which the 
Trojan colossus was celebrated. It is 
merely a framework, the which your sum- 
mer moleskins or Russias, or your winter 
drawers do bestride, and whereupon they 
take their seasonable, solstitial airings un- 
der the sunshine of heaven, or before that 
of the laundry fire. Well, with this beside 
me, cosily do I sit or rather sink in my 
high-backed elbow chair — I am a King — 
my kingdom is my fire. 



I. 



Let inter-tropic climates boast 

Of melting rays that pierce and roast, 

Where white men would require 
That PhoBbus should, with downy snows. 
Just feather all the sliafts he throws 

From out his quiver dire. 
In heat of lucre, still they bear 
AU other heat such climates wear ; 

Nor have they such desire 
As I, enthroned in elbow chair, 
A poker for my sceptre there, 

My realm — a cheerful fire ! • 



II. 



My subjects are the collier, cook. 

The chimney sweep, (sometimes the rook 

Wm kindly act Mana hire ;) 
The woodman and the turfinan too. 
When town for country I eschew, 

Are loyal to my fire. 
Their loyalty is not too dear. 
Like that of which we daily hear. 

To scorn it — ^not admire— 
Whose quickening fuel but assays 
Of kingdoms to create one blase— 

Ah all-dettrttctiTe fire I 



M 



|Mi/(^wr in ytmr 9*ift/mi, und tUmkf mnd 
ymtHuff io#iii»m|#liiiifi(f^ iri«Mt mimmtuWy, 

^Itm9, whti U HuHy km*|i« M-ruMfing' snri 
riililfMiir fur »( luMtl • «|uiirti*r of sn hour, 
MImI Uiiili miilfiiitly wKtiliifi|f fh«« iirovokinp^ 

IiriHMM iif iKfillltirif wtnrli ih« tntlrh, and 
III! ItMiwn |Nii»itr« »mt ttm Mt of dirty (iiii|H)d 
iHMillit, liti||i <M MWtikctii for llio bi*n4*ht of 
ytiiir ho#i<M uliliic. If you look out at the 
HUiilow«, lliKVn Koi«c titit luity» iHir|»)o*fur<>d 
MillliiiuMI, Hlltl lil« till ro|»|»iif i*rlgc«(| veatds, 
liMikliiM Mioiit hkit liiKoiitf*ti*rii timn any- 
llilMl^ 11U0 ) aiitl turn %t\i\ Uf(iiin you hoar 
IliM MiiKiMK iif Monui art^ t»rll, anil llio mo- 
liiia^tliiltU' «>iy nt hm railing. — **t9it/l" 
(Kim Ilia May, you moo tlm hiinU, ttunly 
lllllii litMiM«hiai«li i^liMiMiink; lhoiitt»)m at the 
ilo«M.tM ii»i|tlmMii|2 lhi» tU^»;v<i hall» ur with 
ttaH^U') 11^ ImKhlouinjc U|i iha hra^m platen 
%\\\\ \\m^ kiuHkoi>i, aitd »omo of thoiu ac- 
l^4lU tM^)«Mni< a I'U of till t At ion ^ith oome 
f^^^\^^ U\%^{, l^oiii (SvAti^l vlatiiarv of ()oii|;h. 



THS 7IK£. 

** Thai mttiDir, and lanrcyir.^ 

Th4* kUAhb and iu c omimibi, • 

To »fifii«* •«ctire and more tl 

That lib«»ratei and exempt •» - 
• • • 

While fancy, like the ftaf er 
Uans the great circuit, aail 



If yon are alone, like ti. 
house of a wjnter'e eren*. 
enjoy your fire I With ! 
nance and its flaminff tO)j 
like some cheerful meu*\ 
yon, administering a fla^i 
up your darkness, and a ' 
soften down the icineas t' 
crusted your feelingt. / 
lij^ht seizeth the soul ; 
caUHt of your cares as «'-' 
and let them alike brigh* 
ot gladness. In a wor«I 
tions for which I hold v 



VM>t >Ktlh Ka4; %m\ hi« 1vaA» ot "(luokv grwn, 
\x'H ^^^M'nv the |vU%k e\(sK Ma.khAm^J I am not in the Teia (t) 
)(^KHi4M hamsI J^^%» Irmutpiiii: aK»n>; with elotjuent enough to en I < 
»^>s* U l«%^%t l^'ii %h*»)* ew« on llie *hiq> • their desert*. Suffice i* 
Ws^i >s.i K^ **auke ot x^M cloth,^. tT\Mu beyond pni<e of min*'. 
\**,' M.1 »»v>\^u% UvU'* < hou'x<^ r\nin t «!s'iit Manr are there who. 

U*-^* ^'-^ . I e^^M ^.\vl It'x ^^'I'ol^h:;*!, Li* "^v^*. f :**t*ss^ un iettake 
Jv>:\ V \ »■■ -i* 'b.vxK V* aisl p \»i»M'i:x\i orv 



in the t-Y ! Certe*. 

mn\ :n rv^i ar i barwir.i: 
x»T xtr:v*tu"vs^ cw>tcIlAti 



»•_» •• 



t -rtr^e*^ 



^ »> 






u 



X «■«» X' • X*^4 ■' *N ^ « 
.X «■ l.«.t» *» *SiV« t,,» 

•xt » N H» » • •» V i^ * VV» * «\ • •» \ » ■* • 



a 
\ 









» *• 






. « 



tes«V«X ^ «^* %a % 






% « X 

• « V % * « « 

,^ ^,y,X « 'x^fc K» ^ * ■ » ■ • 

V « * V N» "^ * ^"^ 'X^ •Xwxx* 



■•>* 



«• X «« » 






. 1~ »*«^ 
s: tv' ,••• * ".-• aT ' 



2v 



•^ .s ^ - '"V •. \..-* 



N«* '*. 



V... 



»kX 



tl 

.t 

in 

"ler 
<s 

ly 

ver t 

ita — 

nan 

thr 



- ovei 

i pe; 

*al o 

, or c 

■' of ri 

hat w< 

tempi 

^eemc 

» the f 

I'V an 

: from I 

A som< 

.4i in 

. This 

/.tS, ft]( 

1 the «• 

.of the 

the ac< 

• hand, a 

• ar and 

' her, cai 
nture c 
rt could 



18 



FIBE-0ZDB BAMBUNGUai. 



m. 

Mf ftiel is so nicely laid, 

'Tis by my sceptre calmly swayed ; 

Nor can it raise my ire 
If other kingdoms (I don't joke) 
ContriTe to carry off their smoke 

As wen as this my fire. 
If Constitution-chimney swells- 
If chimney-sweeps political 

Sing oat in sooty choir — 
What care have I, while thou wilt mete 
My revennes of light and heatj 

And tawad to boot, my fire ? 

IV. 

Hy reTSnne of light, whose hues 

Are such — so rich, you can't but choose 

'Twixt these and those of Tyre ; 
The Tynan crimson — Tyrian blue — 
Pshal what their tints to these that you 

Can shed, my golden fire ? 
My rerenue of heat, whose glow. 
Beginning ft'om my feet below, 

Doth waken — doth inspire 
My very soul with such a heat. 
That wildly oft my pulses beat 

For love— of thee my fire 1 

V. 

Tile revenue of Moynd I've got — 
Now like some Lilliputian shot 

From some war-engine's gyre — 
Now, musical, some lump of coal 
Doth sigh away in gas its soul, 

And in a flash expire. 
Say, what are auto-mousikons ? 
Your pocketed Euteipions? 

Tour things of teeth and ^vire ? 
These finical affairs 7 spurn ; 
Give me the notes that hwt and hum 

Through polish'd hm — ^my fire ! 

VI. 

But, chief, at night, I love my throne, 
And love it then when I'm alone ; 

While I have, near, my quire 
Of smoothest paper, jar of ink, 
And pen that catcheUi all I think 

While looking on my fire ; 
A box of snuff, a flask of wine — 
Of stuff like nectar — quite divine ; 

For thought vrill often tire. 
Unless such " vis a tergo" speed 
From g^ape-juice or Virginia weed, 

Or, from thy heat, my fire. 

vn. 

" Nay, Mr. Monarch Moody, nay. 
Come, this is selfish," you will gay — 

" I cannot this a^hnire. 
Why not forget at times to think 
Of that which spills such streams of ink. 

On reams that light your fire ?" 
And so I do " at times," and quaff 
With trusty friend, and sing and laugh, 

Or touch the *' soothing lyre" 
To sweetly-agonising tones- 
Concentered wkoiug* ci moans. 

Thus sealed at my Hre. 



YJUL 

Concentered in such mellow'd stream 
Of love and sorrow, that you dream 

These feelings you respire. 
Too well leme's griefs can thrill. 
The eye too eloquently fill, 

leme's loves inspire ; 
As often, often I could tell, 
Gould words but give the feeling well- 

The feeling all entire ; 
That's better left to bum within. 
And flicker as I sleep, akin 

To thee, (toward mom) my fire. 

NBW AND OLD CLOTHES. 



« 



/4 thing of thredt and patches . 



I have a horror of new clothes. In this 
term clothes, I include all the external ar- 
ticles of dress, from the hat to the gloves, 
from these again to the boots or the shoes. 

A new hat I but, stay, where 

Ha ! — Fve got 



is this manuscript? 

it. Reader, this is a manuscript I found in- 
side the lining of my old hat. Doubtless, 
'tis an antique, for the writing hath a rery 
foxy hue, and but for the timely discovery 
of it, that hue would have faded into the 
jaundice of years, which had already settled 
upon the paper — into the "sear and yellow" 
oblivion. But it is merely a fragment. A 
something went before, and a something 
came after, which were torn off by the illi- 
terate hatter : — *' In theese ages (what ages 
I can't tell you) there was spred a marvel 
the whych consemed the ghoste-seers of 
of theese countreys, (what countries I know 
not) lykewyse other philosoferes, for the 
rite understandyng thereoff. 'Twas the 
rumore for that certayn of theese people, 
the whych was yclad in the skins of theese 
beast es, yclept beaveres, had seene the ap- 
peerance of an anymal he murthered, the 
whyle he was sleepyng ; and, moreover, for 
that the goblin did instill into bis mynde 
the planning and considerashin of the me- 
chanisme, the whych hath got the style and 
tytel of ' hat' since that epock. ' Man 
furst tortured me,* saith the ghoste, * and 
verily shall I do the torture unto hyra ; and 
for that he hath a likyng for the makyng of 
devyces, I shall hereby sudjest a devyce 
unto thee to give thee proof of dyrefol 
hate to thy race, for, have correct under- 
standyng that I am a hater of man,* and 
thus saying, the ghoste of the beavre va- 
nished even as the myste. Now, after that 
thys man awaked, he bethought hym of a 
devyce, and straiteway contrived it accord- 
inglie. The best tytel for it, he thought, 
would be « hate; and for his-self, the maker 



FIRE-SIDE RAMBLIN6S. 



19 



thereoff, * hater J Now, all thyngs have 
their mutabilities, and tongues of countreys 
will vary in their sorte lykewyse, forasmuch 
as ' hate hath been ychanged into ' hat/ 
and < hater* nowadayes into ' hatter.' The 
ghoste-seers and philos " Here ab- 
ruptly enough endeth the manuscript. A 
new hat ! I firmly believe the whole story. 
The hatters are that man's successors : — 
still do they inflict the ghost's hates (new 
hats) upon mankind ! And how I do, in 
an especial manner, smart and grin and 
writhe under that portion of the misan- 
thropy which at times encircleth my head, 
and reddeneth and blistereth my brow so 
unmercifully ! More — it absolutely begets 
such kind of compression that my vision is 
perturbed by spectral scintillations — the 
" malleus" maketh strange noises upon the 
'* incus" — (my theory in opposition to all 
the phrenologists ; for what business hath 
a** hammer" in the auditory economy, or 
an *' anvil/* unless for the due forging and 
fashioning of sound, on which, / take it, 
the genii of hearing, like little vulcans, are 
employed in their little auricular smithy ?) 
these strange noises being echoed by the 
tyrapanous chambers^ and the several soni- 
duct labyrinths, and bruited along the 
•' portio mollis" (is it not (hat you call 
it ?) to my sensitive sensorium. 

Even supposing the absence of these 
nuisances, I say there is another most an- 
noying inconvenience in a new hat. You 
cannot salute a lady after the French way ; as 
well might you try to take off your head as 
your hat. It is as a part and parcel oi your 
head. Minotaur-like, you are semi*beaver- 
headed I you must content yourself with a 
soldier-like salutation ; or you must do, 

what happened to a friend of mine, P 

O'B , keep tugging at the leaf till your 

thumb forces its way through the joining, 
and tears it so extensively that it hangs as 
a trophy of your efforts at politeness, fes- 
toon-wise over the tip of your nose — ^your 
eyes, all the while, looking through the 
unintentional ellipses with the most abashed 
vacillation of gaze. A new hal I I know 
nothing like it. Agony and a new hat are 
synonymous terms. The look of it too I — 
there it is — its proportions stiff as thotigh 
'twere made of iron — its glossiness (how 
like flattery I) soft as the most impalpable 
down I' Who would think 'twas made 
for cruelty to animals ? and these animals, 
men — ** articulate speaking" men ? But 
whatever u, must be ; and even new hats 
are, and accordingly they must be en- 
dured. 



A sovereign plan hath of late been re- 
commended to me, to lessen my sufferings 
on the donning of a new hat. " Give it," 
saith my friend, " a shower bath ; this will 
render flexible its spasmodic qualities, and 
the leaf, < a parte post/ more amenable to 
the natural obtrusiveness of the collar of 
your coat. Your hat would »it easier, and 
your head and your coat collar shaU give it 
that shape your movements have given to 
your oldest of hats." God bless me ! d*ye 
say so ? said I ; then shall I try the expe- 
riment. No doubt it must be literally the 
drowning of care, and the first step toward 
that desirable change — the consummation 
of old-hat-hood. It must be like the 
shower which gladdens the husbandman's 
heart. Though it fall upon the hard, stiff, 
arid soil, yet must I have hope for all it- 
will do. I must await the softening — I 
must await the seedy season, when the sun 
shall have embrowned the harvest for the 
sickle of old Time. 

Then the old hat, what a luxury is it ? 
Do — actually do what you like with it. 
How easily yielding is it to the buffet and 
the bruize ? You are in no trouble about it. 
You can put it anywhere. It defies dust. 
It is unstainable, unless perad venture, some 
spatter of the white-washer falleth upon it. 
And then, how loosely it slippeth on your 
head ! You can never think, like the cox- 
comb, uf an umbrella — that imbecile par- 
mula which he, indignant against the fruit- 
ful rain, impiously thrusts in the face of 
heaven. 

A new anything gives me much concern 
— a " change comes over the spirit of my 
dream ;" I feel I am periodically shufiiing 
off some of the mortal coil, when I doff a 
dearly beloved hat, or coat, or other vest- 
ment, whose weft is of reminiscences of the 
past-off affections that were ; while I smile 
at the chimerical attempt to re-appear what, 
in other days, you seemed — to force youth 
from the past into the present — to £ndy- 
mionize yourself by an effort of imagina- 
tion — to strut out from some laboratory of 
the Mneii as from some expurgatory or- 
deal, clothed afresh in the seemliness of 
your spring-time. This investiture of un- 
wonted integuments, alas! supposeth not 
the investiture of the *' new man," or the 
divesting yourself of the *' old," no more 
than the gains — the accessions — assimila- 
tions, on the one hand, and the losses — the 
rejections^the wear and tear in the animal 
system, on the other, can alter your iden- 
tity. This investiture of unwonted inte- 
guments never yet could give me satisfius- 

B 2 



20 



riKE-5J!DE ll.VWJJJJXUS, 



tion. Call it, if you will, merely the put- 
ting on of civilization. Granted. Civili- 
zation hath to answer for our bad innova- 
tions. Your civilization, good Sir, is but 
the refinement of accomplishments which 
are meant for and directed to all evil ten- 
dencies. March of intellect I quotha.— 
March of balderdash. Sir. What hath this 
to do with a map of the proportions — the 
principalities, as it were, of the human ter- 
ritory ? — with the geography that is par- 
celled out in broad cloth ? Think you that 
the sartorial artificers of old, the framers 
of the toga and the tunic, had less of in- 
tellect than our fractional homunculi — our 
great Novenarii, whose "stitch in time 
saves Atne." No, emphatically — no, in- 
dignantly — no I They scorned to bandage 
a Hmb, to excoriate your axilla, to squeeze 
the body. They scorned the slow but cer- 
tain manslaughter of things like stays ; they 
impeded not the respiratory or the diges- 
tive functions. They left both blood and 
muscle free- and disenthralled; they made 
the garments to '< float as wild as the 
mountain breezes." Oh ! had I lived in 
such times, how few would be my ailments 
(few — none at all!) from the infliction of 
cloth ? With what pleasure could I take 
my diurnal promenade *' mediiam nugartim 
tottuquein tllis;** and quite at ease in the 
degage unstudiedness of my drapery, like 
Horace, I could placidly respond to any 
impertinent enquiry after my health, with 
a " suamter ut nunc eet.* I wonder how 
would Horace, were he clad in our modern 
costume, have met the puppy on the Via 
Sacra. Most certainly would he have 
waxed ferocious. He could not possibly have 
taken things ^^ siiaviterJ* His dress would 
have screwed his courage to the striking 
point. The event of the meeting would 
be now enacted on our "boards" as the 
" Tragedy of the Via Sacra,** and Macready 
would strut in all the triumphant dignity of 
the offended Flaccus. 

How I could enjoy too, as Horace did, a 
canal trip to some of our Irish Brundusi- 
ums, and concentrate the trifle of wit that 
lurketh in me, in a journal like his of my 
excursion. Clad in habiliment like his, 
what odes and episodes and epistles (I am 
not a satirist) and arts of poetry would I 
not indite I and, like Tityrus, <' recuharu 
sub teymine" togm, what pastorals would 
issue from my **yracilis avena ?" Alas ! 
I have nothing for it but to fancy I have 
SQch covering — vainest and most untruth- 
ful /an«y that it is. I must enact the an- 
cient in my theatre-*the bed-room ; but 



the ancient, degenerate, pantomimed, gro- 
tesqued, — in my loose morning gown! 
Yet of this garment am I fond — so fond 
that I make a night gown of it also ; that 
is, like the wishing-cap of the fable, I make 
a wishing gown of it; I nightly wish my- 
self well in it. I am wont to think in it, 
and write mj thinking, and read other peo- 
ple's thinking, till two o'clock A. M., when 
Morpheus would have me disrobe myselfi 
and coaxeth me between the sheets. 

1 can't think in a new coat. I am 
cramped, I am stiffened, I am a very luna- 
tic, 1 am in a straight jacket. Thought 
wriggles as it were with every wriggle of 
the body ; it *' works with sinuosities along" 
— ^it is a forked lightning. I can't make 
anything out of it that is not unsafe and 
dangerous. When fashion obliges you, 
like the other butterflies, to court the sun- 
shine, wear your new clothes by all means ; 
flutter, whirr, buzz, accomplish all imagina- 
ble absurdities, and lay them on the al- 
tar of perfumes in that goddess's temple. 
But, when at home, if you u>ant to think, 
get yourself into the loosest old coat yon 
can find in your wardrobe, or your morning 
gown, and I promise you a ready apparition 
of ** thick-coming fancies.** 

'Tis clear the ancients thought more and 
wrote more than the moderns, for, their 
thoughts were never midwived into tbe 
world with the corporeal throes the moderns 
sufler withal. They were wrapt up in body 
as in mind, with the like feelings of com- 
fort, the same luxury of ease. Their dress 
interrupted not the kindly, placid current 
of their ideas with an uncomfortable twitch- 
ing here, a pinching or a squeezing there; 
'twas impossible they could have an awriness 
of mind. Of the *< ills our flesh is heir to," 
and which that second Pandora, civilization, 
poured upon us, they had not the slightest 
perception. What did they know of corns, 
or corn-doctore, or of the corn-producing 
craft? Had they known all this, we 
should not have had the peripatetics and 
their lucubrations — ^the Aristotelians, et hoc 
genus omne. How could they have walked ? 
— ^how talked ? — ^how have taken their per - 
ambulatory notes, if their feet were tram- 
meled in the vices of leather, if their toes 
smarted under inflammatory callosities? 
What did they know of stays, and belts, and 
braces, and streps, and the constricted, con- 
fined ideas of our modern dandietf and arti- 
tificere of dandies P Nothing ; they knew 
nothing but the liberty of the subject in 
their mode of dress. Their gait was one of 
solemnity, dignity, elegancei grace. Their's 



OHIKXTALE. 21 

was the philosophy of walking. Where imaginary, colloqaial, ratiocinatory stroll 
were the martyrs ? — ^where the suicides in with a couple of these personified Enthy- 
their times to be found, who could die in | mcmes — these sappers and miners of Pyr- 
the cause of cloth P Alas ! these are re- I rhonism — these syllogistic engineers ; or, 
served for the present day. Their martyrs I by way of variety, spout high-sounding hy- 
and suicides fell principally in ihe cause of I perboles with the orators, and lash ray 
— cloth P Psha ! whip me such dyers of ; country's oppressors with some of their elo* 
cloth ; no, but in the cause of virtue, or quent artifices ! But, good reader, by 



their country's honour. 

How I love o' nights to imitate these 
worthy philosophers, and to give my limbs 
and mental faculties their legitimate en- 
franchisement. In my gown and sandal- 
like slippers, how I do delight to take an 



this time you have waxed weary of myself 
and my habits. We shall say no more, 
therefore, touching clothes, fearing you 
may take me for one of Jewry, and ejacu- 
luate, — "Verily, is this fellow an old- 
clothes man P" 



'^^^^^^^^^>^^^'<^^^^>^'-^^>^^^^^^^^>^^^^^-f''yS^-^^i^^^S^'i^^^^^^^^^'^^^^^^^f^^'^^^^^^^'^V\ 



ORIENTALE. 



FROM VICTOR HUGO. 



One day the Sultan Achraet said 
To Leila, the gay Grenadine : 

My kingdom I would give, sweet maid. 
To guarantee Medina mine; 

And I would gladly barter, free, 

Medina, for the love of thee. 

Then be a Christian, Star of Kings ! 

All pleasures are beneath a ban. 
And held as interdicted things 

When shared with a Mohammedan : 
I really cannot hazard crime ; 
Sin is enough, my dear Sublime ! 

By all the pearls that brightly deck. 
And decking, but show lovelier still 

The beauty of thy milky neck, — 
I would obey thy sovereign will. 

If thou, dear girl, wouldst give to me 

Thy necklace for a rosary ! 

Sunday s Well. 



22 



HISTORY OP THE LINEN TRADE. 



HISTORY OF THE LINEN TRADE. 



PART I. 



If 



WHY SROHLD THBT BAISB HORB COHHODITIBS 8INCB THBRB AEB NOT MBBCHANTB SUPVICIBNTLY STOCKID TO 
TAKB THBM OP TBBM ; AND HOW SHOITLD MERCHANTS HAVE STOCK, SINCB TRADB IS PROHIBITBD AND PBTTBRBD 
BT TBB STATUTES OP ENGLAND ?*' — SIR WILLIAM PETTY.* 



The early history of the linen trade of Ire- 
land is involved in much obscurity, the 
elucidation of which affords ample scope for 
research ; but however interesting such 
might prove, as it would be somewhat 
foreign to our present purpose, and could 
not tend to much practical benefit, we will 
not enter upon it here, but i*ather pass on to 
review its history and progress from the 
time when its extent and importance as a 
commercial maimfacture, caused its culture 
and increase to be deemed fit objects for le- 
gislative care. We, consider it necessary, 
however, though declining to enter minutely 
into the proofs of its antiquity, to refute a 
notion regarding its recent origin, which for 
obvious purposes has been circulated with 
more than ordinary care ; and we regret to 
say, that, as a people^ so ignorant have we 
been kept of the history of our country, by 
those who, with the key of liberty, held also 
that of knowledge, that this statement now 
passes current as a truism. But the spirit 
that is within us gives strong assurance, that 
the day is fast approaching in the which 
Irish literature will resume its former sta- 
tion. Already has " the sunburst" S4)peared, 
and when its noontide brightness comes, our 
temple's veil shall be rent, the unhallowed 
prison-house wherein tyranny hath so long 
entombed the records of our glory, shall 
be opened, and the spirits of the illustrious 
dead being set free, our children shall re- 
ceive their first lessons, in the history of the 
land which gave them birth. 

We allude to the prevalent belief that a 
knowledge of this branch of trade was con- 
ferred upon us by England in the seven- 
teenth centur}', and that the rapid progress 
it made in Ulster, owed its origin to the ce- 
lebrated compact made between the Lords 
and Commons of Ireland and England, and 
ratified by William III. in the year 1098-9, 
whereby there was an agreement made be- 
tween both kingdoms, '* that if Ireland gave 
up her woollen maimfacture, that of Unen 
should be left to her under every encourage- 
ment; that woollens should be considered 



and encouraged as the staple of England, 
and linens as that of Ireland."*! But it un- 
fortunately happens that those who assert 
the claims of England on our gratitude, can- 
not agree as to the time when, forsaking her 
wonted policy, she played the benefactress. 
Some have named the administration of 
Strafford — some that of Ormond — while 
othera have even said that prior to 1699 we 
had no linen manufacture. We will not 
stop separately to refute these unfounded 
assertions, but proceed to lay before our rea- 
ders the grounds on which we reject all of 
them, as well as the once fashionable theory 
of English generosity, which they were fa- 
bricated to sustain. 

Hakluyt in his poem entitled " The Pro- 
cess of EngHsh Policy," written about the 
year 1430, enumerates the productions and 
mercantile commodities of different nations. 
He represents our exports as including 
hides, fish, wool, and linens, or to give it in 
his own words : — 

" Hides and fish, hake, her-ring, 
Irish wool and linen cloth, Faldinge.** 

It is evident from this that the manufacture 
of linen was a trade of some importance in 
Ireland at this early period, though of its 
actual extent we have no means of judging, 
further than apjjears from the fact of its be- 
ing an article of export. 

On referring to our statute book we find 
that a bill was passed in the year 1542, to 
protect tlie fair traders in linen cloth from 
the injurious practices of forestallers. We 
are aware that this act has been frequently 
represented by authors of high character as 
rel'eiTing to linen-yam only. This mistake, 
which we must suppose to have been unin- 
tentional, may have arisen from an error 
which occurs in the report of the Committee 
appointed in 1772, to report on the history 
and progi'ess of the linen trade, J where, pur- 



• Political Survey of Ireland, p. 96-7, 

{Arthur Youngs Tour, vol. iL p. 148-9. 
Commons Journal, vol. xt. 



HierroRT of thb linbn trade. 



2S 



porting to give the sense of the act in their 
own words, the word "cloth** is omitted. 
This act, the 33rd Henry VIII. ch. ii. was 
entitled "An act for grey merchants." The 
preamble says : — 

"Forasmuch as divers merchants and other 
persons having little or no respect to the wealth of 
this land, have of late used to go from towne to 
towne within this land, bein^ no market townes, 
to buy hides, fells, checkers, fleges, yame, Unem 
ehlh, wooll, and flocks, whereby the fairs and 
markets within this land be greatly decayed/'* 

The provisions of this act were, that 
persons continuing in those practices were 
to be in future amenable to the laws al- 
ready in force against forestallers ; and be- 
ing only a temporary act, it was revived 
in 1569 by 11th Elizabeth, sess. 1, chap. v. 
— " Whereas, there was an act established 
and made by the authority of the said par- 
liament (of 1542), that no person to the 
intent to sell the same, should buy within 
this land, hides, fells, checkers, fleges,yame, 
linen cloth, wooll, or flocks, in any other 
place or places, but only in the open mar- 
ket or fa3nre ; the said act shall be continued, 
revived, and from henceforth for ever re- 
main as law within this realm, to bo ob- 
served and kept." f In tracing its statutaiy 
history we find that in the 3rd session of the 
same year, it was enacted, — " That whereas 
divers persons in this realm, carelesse of the 
common wealth, doe in season of the year 
lay into rivers, streams, brookes, and other 
fresh running waters, their hemp and flax to 
be watered:"! severe penalties should be 
levied for its repetition, and oral procla- 
mations to that eifect should be made at 
stated periods in the public market places. 
In the same session, we find a still more im- 
portant statute, chap, x., entitled — " An act 
for stajring wooll, flacks, tallow, and other 
necessaries within this kingdom," the pre- 
amble to which savs, " That diverse the 
commodities of this kingdom are transported 
out of the same, by sundry private covetouse 
persons, to the great hurt and damage 
thereof: that the said commodities may be 
more abimdantly wrought within this realm 
ere they be transported, than presently they 
are, which shall set many now living idle to 
work, — be it enacted, that whatsoever person 
shall, after the last day of September, in the 
year 1569, put, carry, or load, in any ship, 
wool, fiockeSf^fiaxe, linen yame, or woollen 



• Statutes, voL 1. p. 178. 

t Ibid, vol. L p. 319-20. 

X Ibid, vol. I p. 343. 1 1th Elizabeth, set. 8, o. v. 



yame, shall pay for the same ;'** and then 
follow the penalties, which on flax and linen 
yam was Is. in the pound duty, and 8d. per 
pound for the use of the city, firom which it 
might be exported. 

The quantity of flax and yam exported 
was greatly diminished by this act: and the 
merchants who traded in the export of these 
articles having lost considerably by the de- 
crease, sought for redress by endeavouring to 
have the act repealed ; but a different course 
was pursued, which in a great measure met 
the wants of the merchants, while it still 
kept the raw material at home till it attained 
the highest value which well-directed labour 
could bestow upon it. By the 13th Eliz. 
chap i., 1571, it was enacted,—-'' That no 
person shall transport any cloth or other 
work or stuflf that is wrought or made in this 
realm of Ireland, of wool, flocks, linen jnim, 
or woollen yam, out of this realm; but only 
a merchant in one of the staple cities or one 
of the burroughs or privileged or incorpo- 
rated towns." f It IS expressly stated in 
the act, that the object of confining the ex<* 
port of the manufactured linens to the pri- 
vileged towns was not to lessen the expiort, 
but to encourage the merchants who were^ 
before the passing of the former act, en- 
gaged in the export of flax and yam. 
In the second chapter of the same session 
we have an act explaining that which was 
passed in the 11th year of her reigU/ session 
3, chap. X. : speaking of the intent of the 
enactment, it says, — " The meaning of 
which act wa.s to stay the said commodities 
to be wrought within this realm, whereby 
many now living idly within the said realm 
should be set to work." J We have quoted 
these several statutes as well for the purpose 
of proving how groundless is the a.ssertion, 
that the linen manufacture of Ireland is of 
recent origin, as of showing that, at that pe- 
riod, the annihilation of the woollen was not 
considered a necessary prelude to the en- 
couragement of the linen. We have quoted 
these important documents at some lensth, 
because it will be necessary to a clear under- 
standing of the more recent legislation relat* 
ing to this trade, to have a perfect knowledge 
of the principles on which it was legislated tor 
at the period when those statutes were en- 
acted. 

We may now pass to the important era 
of Straflford's lieutenantcy. His name has 



* Statutes, voL L p. 349-51. 
t Ibid, vol. I p. 376-7. 
X Ibid, VOL i. p. 883. 



2* 



HI?>TORY OF THE LINEN TRADE. 



been so often associated with this trade, 
and its origin among ns has been so in- 
correctly attributed to him, that it may not 
be considered superfluous to add his own 
testimony to the many proofs we have al- 
ready given, that however he might have im- 
proved or increased it, we are not indebted 
to him for its introduction. Every exer- 
tion he used for its advancement we fully 
appreciate, and shall as candidly acknow- 
ledge ; but we claim also the privilege of 
scrutinizing his motives. And when his 
countrymen claim for his memor)' the grate- 
ful remembrance of our nation, Uiey ^ould 
be reminded that his private despatches show, 
when he came among us to encourage our 
linen trade, that his secret object was to rear 
it as a scaffolding, based on the gratitude of a 
warm-hearted and confiding people, whereon 
his foot might rest secure, while his hand was 
stretched forth to pull down our then popu- 
lar and extensive woollen manufacture. 

We may be met by the assertion, that 
though the trade had been in existence, 
prior to the arrival of Strafford, it had fallen 
into decay. Happily there are documents 
preser\'ed among the state papers of the 
Deputy which prove that this is not correct. 
From a memorandum dated 1633, which is 
entitled — " Remembrance of what commo- 
dities serve for Spain and Portugal out of 
Ireland," we extract the following : — 

" Gallicia — wheat, rye, some linen^loth. The 
Cannaries — ^butter, some calves, skins, linett'Cloth, 
iron. Madeira Island — ^pipe staves, Unen-cloth, 
iron."^ 

Having enquired minutely in to the state of 
our commerce both prior to and after his 
arrival here, he found that in woollens we 
were likely to rival England, and to protect 
her trade, he detennined to crush ours. 
Speaking on this subject. Carte says — " But 
whatever reasons there were for it, it would 
have been barbarous to restrain a people from 
employing themselves in one manufacture, 
witliout setting them to work in another. 
With this view he sent into Holland for 
flaxseed, (it being of a better sort than Jiny 
they had ui Ireland,) and uilo the Low 
Countries and France for workmen. To 
encourage otlicrs he engaged in it himself, 
venturing his own private fortune and spend- 
ing £30,000 in a work which nothing could 
have moved him to undertake but a lauda- 
ble zeal for the good of the kingdom that ho 
governed.'*f Such was the charitable con- 



♦ Stafford's Letters, vol. i. p. 105. 

f Carte's Life of Ormond, vol. i. p. 85. 



struction which Carte pnt on the motives of 
Strafford. But let the Deputy himself speak ; 
and with a becoming candour he will declare 
that his zeal was not for Ireland or her people, 
and that his object was " not only to enrich 
them, (the Irish) but make sure still to hold 
them dependant on the crown; and for 
wholly laying aside the manufacture of 
cloths or stuffs there, which, if not discou- 
raged, it might be feared that they might 
beat us (the English) out of the trade itself 
by underselling us, which they are able to 
do."* Such were Strafford's motives, and 
as one who did a partial good that he might 
inflict a greater evil, let his memory be es- 
teemed amongst us. 

During his administration proclamations 
were issued, by which a standard length was 
assigned to the yam threads ; the breadth, 
length, and quality of linen cloth was fixed 
by law, and all cloth and yam not made 
ui accordance with the regulations were 
forfeited. On the 25th of May, 1641, 
the House of Commons resolved " that the 
proclamations touching linen yam, pub- 
lished ultimo Mali, 1636, et ultimo Ja- 
nuarii, 1636, and the proceedings and 
consequences thereof are voted by this 
house to be, and to have been, ffreat griev- 
ances to this kingdom.'*^ To this resolution 
the Lords' committee agreed, and on the 
2nd June, " the warrant signed by the late 
Lord Deputy, and the proclamations were 
voted gnevances and contrary to the law 
of the land."J Among the many com- 
plaints which the Lords laid before Charles, 
were the oppressive effects of these procla- 
mations ; and we learn that — " a reasonable 
provision was made for every one of their 
complaints, except that about the seizure of 
linen yam and cloth, when made of less 
goodness and length than the regulations 
established. "§ Notwithstanding these com- 
plaints, we find that the vaiious means 
adopted for the " increase" of the linen ma- 
nufacture produced the desired effect ; the 
improvement however was short lived, its 
progress having been completely checked 
by the civil wars. 

We leai-n from Anderson, on tlie authority 
of Mr. Lewis Roberts, that at this period, 
( l(i4 1 ) Ireland possessed a considerable ex- 
port of linen vam. In a small treatise 
entitled " The "^ Treasure of Traffic," Mr. 
Roberts says, — " The town of Manchester 



* See Letters to Chas. L vol. i. pp. 93, 216, 220. 
t Commons Journal, vol. i. p. 210. 
i Ibid, vol. i. p. 226. 
§ Carte, vol. i. p. 141. 



HISTORY OF TB£ LINEN TRADE. 



25 



buys the linen-yam of the Irish in great 
quantity."* 

Shortly after the restoration of Charles 1 1, 
the Duke of Ormond was appointed Lord 
Lieutenant, and one of his iirst acts was to 
form a council of trade. His instruc- 
tions to this council were — *^ You are to 
take into consideration all the native com- 
modities of the growth and production 
of his Majesty's kingdom of Ireland, 
and how they may be ordered, nou- 
rished, increased, and manufactured, to the 
best advantage of the public ; and to con- 
sider by what way any of the manufactures 
of the said kingdom are corrupted, debased, 
and disparaged, and by what means they 
may be restored and maintained in their 
ancient goodness and reputation." Speak- 
ing of that branch more immediately under 
our consideration, he says, — "You art to 
consider how a manufacture of linen-cloth 
and linen -yam may be advanced and settled 
in this kingdom, with most advantage to his 
Majesty and his people."f 

His biographer, speaking of the interest 
Ormond took in advancing die commerce and 
manufactures of the nation, says, *' but of all 
the schemes of this sort there was none that 
his Grace was so fond of as that of the Hnen 
manufacture. As soon as he came over into 
Ireland he undertook its revival, and got 
acts of parliament passed for its encourage- 
ment. He built tenements for the recep- 
tion of as many of those as were to be em- 
ployed at Chapel Izod, near Dublin, where, 
before he went the next year to England, 
there were 300 hands at work in making 
cordage, sail-cloth, ticking, and as good 
linen cloth and diaper, of Irish yam, as was 
made in any country of Europe." J Many 
of our landowners followed his praiseworthy 
example, and, among others. Lord Dungan- 
non, in the north, so effectually succeeded 
in reviving the linen trade of Ulster, that a 
writer of the day says, in reference to it, — 

" The Scotch and Irish of that province addict- 
ing themselves to spinning of linen-yam, attained 
to vast quantities of that commodity, which they 
transported to their great profit ; the conveniency 
of which drew thither multitudes of linen wea- 
vers, so that my opinion is, there is no greater quan- 
tity of linen produced in the like circuit in £u- 
rope. § 

The legislative attention which this ma- 



* History of Commerce, vol. ii. p. 317. 
t Laurence's Interest of Ireland, introduction, 
London, 1662. 

1 Carte's Life of Ormond, vol. ii. p. 343. 
§ Lanrence'a Interest of Ireland, p. 169. 



nufacture received dturing Ormond's admi- 
nistration may he judged of hy referring to 
the Commons journal of the tune: — 

** September I6th, 1662.— It is ordered, upon 
question, that the report of the committee of trade 
for the encouragement of the manufactory of linen- 
cloth within this kingdom, be taken into debate on 
Tuesday next."* " February 8th, 1666, Sir Peter 
Pett reported that the committee met, and having 
considered the bill for advancement of the trade 
of linen manufacture, found the same to be a biU 
of public use and advantage to this kingdom."!' 

This bill (17th and 18th Chas. II. chap, 
ix.) was entitled — " An act for the advance- 
ment of the trade of linen manufacture." 
By it the grand juries were empowered to 
levy twenty pounds annually in each county, 
(except Dublin and Kerry ,'^ to be distri- 
buted in premiums of £10, £6, and £4, for 
the best three pieces of linen of stated length 
and breadth. Money was granted for the 
building of a bleach-yard in each province ; 
penalties were imposed on such landowners 
as should set land without corenanting that 
a certain portion be sown with flax or hemp ; 
and on farmers who should not sow a stated 

Suantity in proportion to the amount of land 
ley tilled. By it also a fineedom from state 
service was granted to all weavers for a li- 
mited period. { It was during his admi- 
nistration that "an act of 3ie English 
parliament declared the exportation of our 
black cattle and sheep a common nuisance, 
and prohibited the same perpetually ;*'§ and 
the generous Scotch, profiting by the ex- 
ample set them, ''did likewise." The Duke 
of Ormond now became our avowed advo- 
cate; he represented to his Majesty the 
great loss we sustained by the recent " acts 
U)r the encouragement of English trade," 
which left us without a market for our beef, 
by shutting us out from both the English 
and American trade : — 

" For (says his Grace) Irish beef was not to 
be disposed of in aU places, being deemed of little 
value in most parts of Europe ; though after being 
husbanded in England, itpa—td for Engtith beef, 
and was fanunts all over the world.i 

Have we not the same prejudice to con- 
tend with at present ? Have not our manu- 
factures, at this very day, to be sent to 
England to acquire caste, before they will 
meet with purchasers — ^not abroad — ^but in 
Ireland ?. 



I 



* Commons Journal, vol. i. p. 640« 

Ibid, vol. I p. 702. 

Statutes, voL ill. p. 167. 

Hints for Hardmge, p. 42* 
I Carte, vol. U. p. 317. 



S6 



HISTOST OF THK LINEN TRADE. 



Charles, by letter dated 23rd March, 1667, 
in answer to the representations made by the 
Duke of Ormond, gave directions '< that all 
restraints upon the exportation of commodi- 
ties of the growth and manufacture of Ire- 
land, to foreign parts, should be taken off, 
and that this should be by a proclamation 
of the Lord Lieutenant and Council." 
Permission was also given to retaliate on the 
Scotch for the prohibition of the import of 
our cattle, in accordance with which a 
proclamation was issued, "notifying the 
allowance of a free trade to all foreign 
countries, either in war or peace with his 
Majesty, and prohibiting the importation of 
linen and other commodities from Scotland, 
1^ a great hindrance to the manufactures of 
tiiis kingdom."* But while Ormond thus 
encouraged one branch of national industry, 
he did not endeavour to crush another. 
Though the minister of Charles, he forgot 
not that he had a country ; and while in the 
linen factory of Chapel Izod we have a me- 
morial of his worth, we have equal ones in 
the woollen factories of Clonmel, Carrick, 
and Kilkenny. 

In thus consulting the national weal, Or- 
mond raised against himself a host of pow- 
erful enemies ; and " some of the restraints 
respecting Ireland, in this reign, were sup- 
posed to have originated in a dislike or jea- 
lousy of the growing power of the Duke of 
Ormond, who, from his great estate and 
possessions in Ireland, was very naturally 
supposed to have a personal interest in the 
welrare of that kingdom, "t The Duke 
conducted his administration on the prin- 
ciple, that it was the duty of the Chief 
Governor to increase the trade— improve 
the manufactures — extend the commerce — 
encourage the industry — and direct the ener- 
gies of the people towards, the develop- 
ment of the resources of the country which 
he governed. The principle might be right, 
and just, and good ; but he forgot that the 
nation he applied it to was Ireland, and 
he himself but the deputed of England. 
However he sought to improve the condi- 
tion of the country, around which clung all 
the fond recollections of his childhood, and 
to alleviate the pangs which a series of 
wrongs had inflicted ; and for this was his 
loyal^ to the crown of England called in 
question. . 

" For 'tis treason to lore her, and death to 
defend." 



* Carte, vol iL p. 344. 

t Andenon'a History of Coauniree, vol. v. p. 
388. 



Pretexts for impeachment were in vain 
sought ; plots and snares were profusely 
strewn in his path ; but his caution and firm- 
ness carried him safely through. By his 
zealous endeavours to advance our commer- 
cial and manufacturing interests, he became 
so identified with us, that " that party of 
men who were for denying reasonable things 
to Ireland, were declared enemies to the 
Duke of Ormond."* Their stratagems 
for impeachment having failed, as a last ef- 
fort they resorted to the cry of *' Menu iff- 
bemicue/* and a pamphlet was published, in 
which it was asserted — 

" That it was unfit Ormond should be continued 
longer in the government of Ireland, he being an 
IrUhman. This was sent to one of the Mvy 
Councillors to have it plaeed in the hands of tbe 
King, for the good of Us Majesty and his people, 
both of which would be in danger if his Grace, 
being an Irishman^ was conthiued in the lieute- 

nantcy.^t 

His friends sought to extenuate the crime 
by urging, that to be bom in Ireland wu 
no personal fault of his. Their reason- 
ing was plausible, but it was not in accord- 
ance with the spirit of English rule, and the 
Duke of Ormond, when found guilty of be- 
ing an Irishman, was incapacitated for office. 
There have been found those who, while 
they objected to the act, acquiesced in the 
principle. They argued (and vri th truth) 
that he was not an Irishman by birth, hav- 
ing come to Ireland at the age of three; 
but that even were he bom in Ireland, he 
had done so many services to Charles that 
he ought to have oeen accounted " equal to 
an Englishman*' 

The council of trade which he established, 
was composed of some of the most influen- 
tial men of the day, including members of 
the government, lawyers, and merchants; 
they held weekly meetings, appointed com- 
mittees, and drew up reports and sugges- 
tions on the state of the several trades and 
manufactures. Concerning these sugges- 
tions we are told that — 

** The Buke of Ormonde leaving the govern- 
ment before a parliament met, or those anggestionf 
for formiog acts of state, were put in practice ; as 
the council of trade was their nursery, so the coun- 
cil table became their sepulchre, where thej remain 
in their urn to this day, and are not likely to have 
a resurrection ; for before the Duke's removal, 
most of the Privy Council and other principal 
ministers of state, seemed exceeding fond of all 
proposals tending to the improvement of the trade 
and manufacture of the nation."^ 

* Carte, VOL 0, 346. 

t Ibid, 8d5, 407. 

i Xiaurence'a Ihftarett of iniiiid, lafcredasfioD. 



RI8T0BT OF THK LINEEN TRADS. 



27 



Such was the administration of Ormond, 
and such was the example he set. How few 
of his successors have profited by it requires 
not to be told by us. 

Let it be borne in mind that at the period 
of which we are writing, we were rapidly 
extending both our woollen and linen ma- 
nufactures^ and that in both of these under- 
takings we received not only the encourage- 
ment of our parliament and Viceroy, but 
even the toleration of England. We 
must not however, suppose that the pro- 
gressive increase of our commercial relations 
escaped the jealous watch which England 
ever had on our advancement. That it was 
not so, the many and varied attempts which 
she made to crush our rising spirit too well 
prove. But as the space to which we are 
limited prevents our entering more at length 
into this subject, we would strongly recom- 
mend such of our readers as would desire 
information on these matters (and we trust 
they are many) to peruse that invaluable 
manual of anti- Irish legislation, " Hints to 
Hardinge," from the able pen of M. Staun- 
ton, Esq. It contains in a few pages a mass 
of infonnation, such as the ordinary reader 
could otherwise never arrive at, which, from 
its importance entitles it to become the 
hand-book of eveiy Irishman who loves his 
country in sincerity and truth. 

That our parliament did not relax its 
exertions for the advancement of the linen 
trade, appears from their journals. On the 
22nd November, 169n, we find the heads 
of a bill for this purpose brought into the 
house bv Colonel Hamilton of Tullamore. 
It included "The linen, sail-canvas, cordage 
and other manufactures of hemp and flax in 
tliis kingdom." It received the approbation 
of the house, and that it might become a 
law, it was sent to the Lords Justices to be 
transmitted to England. But thence it 
never returned.* In the following year a 
bill was passed in England, entitled, ** An 
act for the encouraging the linen manu- 
facture of Ireland, and bringing flax and 
hemp into this kingdom (England)," where- 
by it was enacted that hemp, flax, and 
linen, and its thread and yam, might be 
freely imported into England by the natives 
of England and Ireland, custom free, being 
the growth and manufacture of Ireland. "f 
But the preamble to tlie act shews for 
whose benetit this encouragement was given. 
It says, — 

" That great sums were annaally sent abroad 

• Com. Jour, vol ii. p. 120. 

t English Acts, 7th, 8th Wm« m. c. zxxix. 



from England for the porchase of these commo- 
dities, and that this might in a great measure be 
prevented by being supplied from Ireland.'* 

We thus minutely mention the various 
statutaiy encouragements given to our linen 
trade prior to the period of its history, at 
which we have now arrived, for the purpose 
of showing that in all those bills and pro- 
clamations, whether emanating from the 
parliament of Ireland or England, there 
was no stipulation made, nor agreement of 
any sort entered into, on condition whereof 
this encouragement was given ; on the con- 
trary, in the last named act, it is distinctly 
stated that the object of the English par- 
liament in giving a preference to Irish 
grown linens and hemp, was to prevent 
great sums of money being "continually 
carried out of England.*** 

We now come to an examination of the 
most important era in the history of this 
trade, — one which is equally remarkable for 
the unconstitutional power arrogated by the 
English parliament, as for the obsequious 
acquiescence of the Irish. But while we 
reprobate the weakness our parliament ex- 
hibited by their submission to the dictation 
of that of England, is there not some ex- 
tenuation to be found in the peculiar cir- 
cumstances of the time in which it occurred. 
The wars of 1688 had ended ; an act 
of indemnity had been just passed ; com- 
merce and trade began to revive, and again 
was peace and industry established among 
the people. This was the critical juncture 
of which England availed herself, to de- 
prive us of a portion of. our trade, which, 
when the hour of our surength arrived, she 
was no longer able to retain. 

Though we have in a recent numberf re- 
viewed the manner in which she accom- 
plished this, it will be necessary to refer to 
such of the details connected with it, as may 
serve to elucidate the subject immediately 
under consideration. It woidd appear that 
by the act of 1696, admitting Irish hemp 
and linens into England, custom free, the 
English economists expected to turn the at- 
tention of the Irish to the growth and ex- 
port of hemp, for the purpose, as its title 
says, of " encouraging the making of sail- 
cloth in this kingdom (England)." That 
this was their hope, is pretty evident from 
the manner in which they complained two 
years subsequently, of our neglect of what 
they say would be " so profitable to Eng- 
land," though in tnith we did not neglect 



* English Acts, 7th, 8th Wm. IIL c. 
t See voL ii. 340. 



28 



HISTORY OF THE LINEN TBADE, 



the growth of flax and hemp; but not 
choosing to be mere " hewers of wood, and 
drawers of water" for Enghmd, we preferred 
employing our own hands on the raw ma- 
terial, to exporting it for the " further en- 
couragement of English made sail-doth." 

Finding that the bait of '96 did not '' go 
down/' another stratagem was devised, by 
which they hoped to accomplish their de- 
sign. This was to enter into a compact 
with Ireland, that she should turn her at- 
tention solely to the linen and hempen 
manufiEu:ture, while England should turn 
hers solely to the woollen. 

The first proposition to this effect was an 
address from the English House of Lords 
to the reigning monarch in 1698, from 
which we quote the following passage : — 

***** And on the other hand, if they turn 
their industry and skill to the settling and im- 
proving the linen manufacture, for which gener- 
ally the lands of that kingdom are very proper ; 
they shall receive all countenance, favour, and 
protection from your royal influence, for the ma- 
nagement and promoting of the said linen manu- 
facture to all the advantage and profit that king- 
dom can be capable of.* 

This was quickly followed by a similar 
one from the Commons to the same effect ; 
they held out the same offers of encourage- 
ment, and on the same conditions. 

" We cannot viithout trouble observe that Ireland 
which is so proper for the linen manufacture, — 
the establishment and growth of which there, 
would be BO enriching to themselves, and so pro- 
fitable to England, should of late apply itself to 
the woollen manufacture, to the great prejudice of 
the trade of this kingdom, and so unwillingly 
promote the linen trade, which would benefit both 
them and us." They then humbly implore his 
Mi^esty to secure the trade of^ England by " dis- 
couraging the woollen manufacture, and en- 
couraging the linen manufactures in Ireland, to 
which we shall always be ready to give our ut- 
most assistance, "t 

His majesty's answer was, " I shall do 
all that in me lies to encourage the linen 
manufacture there." The proposal was for- 
mally made to our parliament in the same 
year by the Lords -Justices, who, in the 
speech from the thi'one say, 

« Amongst these bills thiere is one for the en- 
couragement of the linen and hempen manufac- 
tures. At our first meeting we recommended you 
that matter, and we have now endeavoured to 
render that bill practicable and useful for that 
effect, and as such, we now recommend it to you. 
The settlement of this manufacture will be found 
more advantageous to this kingdom than the wool- 
len, which, being the staple of England, can never 
be encouraged here, whereas the linen and hempen 

* 9th June, 1698. 
t 80th June, 1098. 



manufacture will nqt only be encoonged u con- 
sistent with the trade of England, but will render 
the trade of this kingdom both useful and neces- 
sary to England.'** 

To this proposal our commons agreed, 
and they accepted it in the following 
words : — 

*' We pray leave to assure your Excellencies 
that we shaJi heartily endeavour to establish a 
linen and hempen manufacture here, and to render 
the same profitable to England as well as advtn- 
tageous to this kingdom, and we hope to find 
such a temperament in respect to the woollen 
trade here, that the same may not be injurious to 
England."! 

The Commons of Ireland having thus 
accepted the terms proposed by these 
several addresses and speeches, received 
the bill of the Lords Justices for the en- 
couragement of the linen and hempen ma- 
nufactures ; and in pursuance of their com- 
pact, they appointed a committee on the 
1st day of November, 1698, to take into con- 
sideration the heads of a bill for laying a 
duty on the export of woollen manufactures. | 
The committee it would appear, did not pre- 
pare the " suicidal act*.' with sufficieut dis- 
patch, and on the 2nd of December, the 
Lords Justices send a '' written speech" re- 
commending a bill for the purpose, — ^the 
reception of which was put from the speak- 
er's chair> — the house was divided, and the 
numbers were seventy-four for the reception 
of the bill, while thirty-four voted against 
it " taking it into consideration. "§ Even 
then was were a remnant in the land who 
bowed not the knee to Baal. The purport of 
this bill was to lay a heavy duty on all 
woollens exported from Ireland, frizes ex- 
cepted. 

The history of this session, as connected 
with oiir subject, is short. The bill framed 
by those, the object of whose rule was, that 
we might be made profitable to England, 
passed both houses with tolerable rapidityi 
whereas the bill for the encouragement of the 
linen and hempen manufactures which they 
so urgently " recommended" in the early 
part of the session, still remained " in com- 
mittee." On the 26th day of Januar>' the 
Lords Justices summoned the Commons, 
and having affixed the royal assent to the bill 
prohibiting the export of our woollens, — 
their object, — the object of that country 
whose servants they werci — ^was accompHsh- 
ed, and in that very day, nay, in that very 
hour was our parliament prorogued; and 

* Com. Jour. vol. ii. p. 241. 

Ilst Oct. 1698. — Com. Jour.- vol. ii. p. 243. 
Ibid, vol. ii p. 280. 
$ Com. Jour. vol. ii« p. 287.' 



IIWTOBY OF THE LINEN TUAUli. 



29 



thus ended all the promises of encourage- 
ment.* Parhament was prorogued to a more 
convenient season : but though William 
wielded the sceptre for full three years after^ 
that convenient season never came. 

In reference to these transactions, Ander- 
son says,f — ^"The first step that Ireland took 
in consequence of this compact, was to lay 
an export duty upon wool and woollens of ail 
kinds, equal to a prohibition, and when that 
act expired, for it was but a temporary one, 
by way of experiment, the British Par- 
liament, without consulting that of Ireland, 
by the 10th and ilth of William III. 
passed a similar act, and made it perpetual." 
The fact is, the Enghsh parliament did not 
wait for the expiration of the term during 
which the 10th William, chap. v. imposed 
a duty on our woollens which would extend 
to the 25th day of March,^ 1702, { but in- 
troduced their bill during the very next 
year, whereby, to use the words of tne par- 
liamentary committee of 1772, ** Ireland 
hath been stiU further restrained in the wool- 
len manufacture than was even desired in 
1698, having been deprived of the export of 
frize.§ 

These are the (acts connected with this 
celebrated compact. In adducing evidence 
concerning it, we have endeavoured to 
give the truth, the unvarnished, and the en- 
tire truth. At this distant period it is im- 
possible to shew the under currents, — the in- 
trigues, and political manoauvering, whereby 
the Irish parliament were induced to accept 
the proposal made by the Lords and Com- 
mons of England. That their acceptance 
of it was not unanimous 'we have already 
shewn : that a large majority however, were 
induced to accede to the terms is evident. 
But whether from a conviction of the neces- 
sity they were placed under, or from what has 
too often proved more |)owerful, " court per- 
suasion,** does not appear. But whatever 
may have impelled them to it, accepted it 
was ; and a compe^ct was fully established be- 
tween the two nations that Ireland should en- 
joy all the benefits of the linen trade, and 
England all the benefits of the woollen,— -each 
to the exclusion of the other. That such is 
the proper interpretation of these several ad- 
dresses and speeches, is too evident to ad- 
mit of any question. In this manner are 
they nnderstood by all those who have writ- 
ten on the subject; and thus did England 



* Com. Jour. voL iL S06-7. 
t Hist Com. voL v. p. 363. 
Z ^tatatM, ToL 3. p. 472. 
I Con. Jour. voL xv. p. 496. 



herself affect to interpret them when usurping 
the power of making her laws, binding upon 
Ireland, irrespective of the wishes of her 
own parhament, she prohibited the export of 
our woollens under a penalty of £500, by 
10th William III. chap X.* 

Before we proceed to enquire into the 
manner in which England fulfilled her 
part of the engagement, we will quote the 
opinions as to the nature and terms of 
this compact, which have been expressed by 
authorities whose competency to form a cor- 
rect judgment on the matter cannot be de- 
nied. 

Arthur Young, an EngUshman, who is so 
well known as the author of " The Tour 
in Ireland in 1777,** thus writes : — 

" The memoirs of the time as well as the ex- 
pressions in the above transactions, evidently prove 
that it was miderstood by both Idngdoms to be a 
sort of compact, that if Irdand gave up her woollen 
manufacture, that of linen should be left to her 
under every encouragement. They could not 
mean internal encouragement or regulation, for 
they had nothing to do with either. It could 
simply mean, as the purport of the words evidently 
show, that they would enter into no measures 
which should set up a linen manufacture to rival 
the Irish, — that woollens should be considered 
and encouraged as the staple of England, and 
linens as that of Ireland ; it must mean this or it 
means nothing. That the Irish understood it so 
cannot be doubted for a moment ; for what did 
they in consequence ? They were in possession 
of a flourishing woollen manufacture which they 
actually put down and crippled by prohibiting ex- 
portation. Let me ask Uiose who assert there 
was no compact, why they did this ? It was their 
own act. Did they cut their own throats without 
either reward or promise of reward? Common 
sense tells us they did this under a perfect con- 
viction that they should receive ample encourage- 
ment from England in their linen tradcf 

The late Lord Oriel, in a paper written, 
of this subject, says, after detailing the an- 
swer of the Irish parliament to the Lords 
Justices, — 

** In pursuance of this answer, they evinced 
that temperament most effectually by passing an 
act for laying prohibitory duties on the export of 
their own woollen manufacture, — thus accepting 
the national compact, and fully performing their 
part of the agreement ; and by Uiat performance 
giving an incontrovertible claim to Ireland upon 
England for a perpetual encouragement of the 
linen mani]^acture to all the advantage that Ire- 
land should at any time be capable of."t 

Such was the compact, and thus did Ire- 
land fulfil the terms of her agreement to the 
very letter. 

The combined effects of these cripplmg 
prohibitions, and England's forgetfuhiess of 

• English Act. 

t Tour, voL iLp. 148-9. 



30 



HISTORY OF THE LINEN TRADE. 



her plighted honour were most disastrous to 
Ireland. In the language of our parliament 
in their address to the throne, — ** We were 
hindered from earning our own livelihoods, 
and from maintaining our ov^n manufactures; 
and our poor had thereby become very nu- 
merous."* Notwithstanding this represen- 
tation of the distress caused by the comple- 
tion of our part of the treaty, England 
moved not in the fulfilment of hers; and 
our Commons appointed a committee to 
prepare another address to the throne^ P^y~ 
ing that her Majesty, — 



t€ 



May interpose with the parliament of Eng- 
land, that this kingdom may have leave to export 
their manufactures of linen from this kingdom 
into the western plantations, which her Majesty's 
poor suhjects of this kingdom have great reason 
to hope for from the encouragement given them 
by several addresses made by the Lords and Com- 
mons of England to his late Majesty in 1698, in 
which they promise to give all the encouragement 
that in them lay to promote the said manufacture 
to the greatest advantage this kingdom is capable 
of."t 

In accordance with the directions tlms 
given to the committee, an address was pre- 
pared and agreed to by the house on the 
23d day of November, 1 703, praying, — 

" That her Majesty's subjects of this kingdom 
have liberty of exporting linen cloth to the plan- 
tations, and that they receive such further en- 
couragement as had been assured to her subjects 
of this kingdom, if they should turn their industry 
to the improvement of the linen manufacture." J 

In the following year the English Com- 
mons passed a bill, granting us permission 
to export our white and brown linens to the 
colonies, for a limited time, being the first 
law which was enacted for the encourage- 
ment of the linen manufacture of Ireland 
since the compact had been entered into. 
While England was thus tardy in assuming 
even the semblance of good faith, poverty 
had stricken root wide and deep through our 
land and by order of the house, — 

** Mr. Recorder presented heads of a bill for 
erecting a work-house in the city of Dublin for 
employing and maintaining the poor thereof. "§ 

This was the memorable occasion on 
which Ireland's first poor-house was pro- 
jected ; and were the period marked by this 
fact alone, it should be accounted an impor- 
tant era in our wrongful history. When 
the night of oppression is past, it shall 
remain an evidence of the plighted faith 

* Address to Anne, 20th October, 1703. 
f Com. Jour. vol. ii. p. 361. 
j Ibid, vol. ii. p. 384. 
I Ibid, voL iL p. 343. 



which was broken, and with warning voice 
declare to future generations that until we 
were "hindered from earning our own 
livelihoods" we needed not a poor-house. 
Another century of the same blighting 
policy has since rolled by; how many 
poor-houses have we now ? they are many, 
very many, but there are of poor to till 
them " enough and to spare." The com- 
mercial jealousy which then left our 
thousands unemployed has since left tens 
of thousands idle and *' in want of bread.*' 

Irishmen, 'tis for you, not for party that 
we write; to you then we would address 
ourselves. If you be men, if the love of 
party is ever to pass away, and that of 
father-land to reign supreme in its stead; 
let this fact take strong hold upon your 
memories ; tell it round the hearth and 
on the hill side, till every village, eveiy 
hamlet, every cottage has reechoed the 
sound thereof; nor let the pregnant truth 
die upon your lips till each true bom of 
Erin has been tau«^ht to know and to feel, 
that ** being hindered from maintaining our 
own manufactures" it was necessary to tax 
the community for the support of those who 
once constituted its wealth. 

While on this topic we may mention that 
not only did our parliament endeavour to 
meet the existing want by thus providing a 
place of refuge for the destitute ; they also 
aimed at staying its progress, as will ap- 
pear by the" follovnng extract from their 
journal :— 

" Resolved, nem. con. — that by reason of 
the great decay of trade, and discouragement 
of exportation of the manufactures of this king- 
dom, many tradesmen arc reduced to extreme 
want and beggary. Resolved, nem. con — that it 
will greatly conduce to the relief of the said poor, 
and to the good of this kingdom, that the inbsp 
bitants thereof should use none other than the 
manufactures of this kingdom, in their apparel, 
and in the furniture of their houses : — Memoran- 
dum — that the members of this house did unani- 
mously engage their honours to each other that 
they will conform to the said resolution."*— 
March 1st, 1703. 

Neither were these the resolutions of 
ephemeral excitement; our Commons felt 
perhaps, that they had betrayed the trust 
committed to their charge, by a false step 
which, in their then powerless condition, they 
were unable to retrace ; and, as a sort of re- 
tributive measure, which, if not effectual, at 
least shewed the disposition to make amends ; 
they adopted those resolutions, and renewed 
them a^n on the 16th of June, 1705. f 



• Com,' Jour. vol. iL p. 407. 
f Ibid, Vol ii. p. 481. 



XANUFAOrUBINO BDUGATXON. 



81 



MANUFACTURING EDUCATION. 



SiDce the commencement of the existence 
of the Citizen, we have embraced every 
opportunity which presented itself of impress- 
ing upon that numerous and important sec- 
tion of the community engaged in mechani- 
cal and manufacturing industry, the impor- 
tance of a correct knowledge of the princi- 
ples of their respective trades. To impart 
this constitutes a leading object of the Me- 
chanics* Institution, and on its successful 
fidfilment must depend a great deal of the 
ultimate welfare of its members, in a^ pecu- 
niary point of view. We attach the high- 
est value to the elevation of the mind of the 
working-man — to raising his standard of mo- 
ral and of social right — to teaching him to 
look upon his employers, not as men from 
whom it is his duty to get as much, and to 
whom he ought to give as little as he can ef- 
fect, but as individuals associated with him in 
providing for the wants of the human race, 
and in furnishing, by the union of pecuniary 
capital with skilful labour, the means of sup- 
plying those objects for which the progress of 
civilization continually creates new demand. 
But thisis not enough. Individuals may rise 
above their class, — almost, we were going to 
say, above their nature, — and in poverty and 
rags, despised by those around them, and 
unknown to all that might lend them sym- 
pathy and support, manifest a dignity of 
intellect and vurtue, which would appear as if 
specially bestowed to show what excellence 
humanity might attain. But a class of men 
cannot be so gifted. An operative driven 
out of work by the introduction of a new 
machine, or displaced by the excessive fluc- 
tuations in demand, to which commercial 
gambling so often leads, cannot address his 
Munily, who cry for bread, on the excellence 
of that science by which machinery is in- 
vented, or the advantages which arise by la- 
bour being assisted and directed by great 
capital. The operative must first be made 
comfortable in his worldly means ; he must 
be able, when at work, to earn enough to en- 
able him to enjoy, with his family, domestic 
happiness and content on the day conse- 
crated to bodily repose ; and what is of equal 
value, he should be possessed of such re- 
sources, that when the branch of trade by 
which he has lived has died away, whether 



by the caprice of fashion, or the invention 
of new modes of mauuf9cture, he can apply 
himself to some kindred art, and even avail 
himself of the change, to better his condition. 
For this, he must be skilled. No labour is 
ultimately remunerative unless it require 
skill ; and to enable the workman to learn 
the principles by which his skill must be di- 
rected, should be the main object of the 
Mechanics* Institute, of Dublin. 

For successful industry, labour must 
therefore be skilled, and workmen must be 
educated in the principles and practice of 
their respective trades. This applies to all 
classes of workmen, — to the superintendent 
who earns £500 a year for general inspec- 
tion of the progress of a factory, — to the 
labourer, who, engaged in the lowest offi- 
ces, gains but a shilling daily ; it is neces- 
sary to the higher workman exactly in pro- 
portion to his income, for it is his superior 
skill, joined to moral integrity, which qua- 
lifies him for the best situation. The ma- 
nagement of a large factory requires indeed 
a fertility of resource, which resembles in a 
great degree, the skill necessary to regulate 
the movements of an army in an enemy's 
coimtry, and in presence of a superior force. 
Every day, new and unforeseen circumstan- 
ces arise. Prices fluctuate, and when pur- 
chasing, we must be guided, not by the 
price at which the manufactured article 
could now be sold, but by our calculations 
of what the price may be when brought 
into the market, perhaps after an interval of 
many months. We have seen as much 
genenilship displayed in avoiding loss from 
fluctuations of this kind, as might be paral- 
leled with the best retreat described in his- 
tory. 

The qualifications necessary for the suc- 
cessful management of a factory, indepen- 
dent of the capital and credit by which it 
is established, are of many kinds, of which 
we only purpose alludhig to a few. First, 
the manager must be thoroughly conversant 
with the means of determining the true va- 
lue of every raw material that he requires to 
buy. If he be obliged to take the word of 
the seller; if he be guided only by what 
others are paying for an article which he 
believes to be the same, he is liable to con« 



92 



31A.N UFACTUUIXU EDUCATION, 



tinual loss and imposition. Of this, even in 
Dublin, we have known very many and 
gxx)ss examples. Thus, in glass makmg, it 
is necessary to use an alkali : for crown glass, 
it is a mixture of potash and soda that is 
used ; but for flint glass, potash alone 
should be employed, as soda colours the 
glass green. The price of good potash is 
£30 per ton ; that of soda is £15 per ton ; 
and I have known glass makers to be pay- 
ing the high price for an alkali which was 
two-thirds soda, and was worth conse- 
quently, but about £20 per ton. The 
quantity of glass made from a ton of alkali 
cost the ma^er therefore £10 more than 
it ought, and besides, it was necessarily 
much softer and worse coloured than it 
ought to be. This fraudulent alkali melts 
down the sand quicker than the true potash, 
and hence, to save a little coals, the manu- 
facturer was induced to buy it. Glass 
makers buy also red lead at a high price, 
in ignorance that a smaller quantity of 
litharge, which is very cheap, might be 
used with the same effect. In like manner 
soap boilers who do not make their own so- 
da, and we believe that in Dublin none but 
Mr. Jones makes for himself, are very sel- 
dom able to determine the real value of 
what is sold them ; they buy at the price of 
the day» tmd it is generally, only when they 
find floating on their coppers, a great quan- 
tity of fat not saponified, that they discover 
that the alkali was not worth half what they 
paid for it« 

The management of all processes per- 
formed in the factory must be minutely un- 
derstood, not merely as to practical details 
and receipts, which have been handed down 
from one time to another, and acted upon 
with good results; but also, with the greatest 
minuteness possible ; the scientific principles 
on which they are founded, and the theories 
by which they are explained ; these depart- 
ments of knowledge are equally necessary 
for the successful management of a. factory. 
The success, particularly in an economic 
point of view, of manufacturing industry, 
depends upon an acquaintance with details 
of which the mere man of science is totally 
unconscious, and hence very frequently where 
the direction of a factory has been given to 
a person whose scientific knowledge was ex- 
tensive and precise, the result was total 
failure of the concern, and great loss to the 
proprietors. On the other hand, if the man- 
ager be only acquainted with such processes 
as he may have learned by rote firom others 
not more skilled, the slightest change of cir- 
cumstances may deprive him of nis only 



means, and leave him destitute of resources, 
and incapable of devising new processes in 
place of those that had become useless. If 
a new dye-stuff be introduced ; if an ore, 
which had been for a long time employed, 
becomes exhausted, and a new variety be 
introduced instead; it requires considera- 
ble scientific skill to determine the best pos- 
sible way in which it can be treated. If in an 
ordinaiy process, something unexpected and 
unusual occurs, it is necessary to trace its 
origin, and determine the conditions by which 
its recurrence may be avoided. The com- 
petition which exists in all departments of in- 
dustry renders the slightest reduction of 
expense, in the making of an article that 
is much used, of great impoitance ; and it is 
only by a clear perception of the principles 
of an operation, that the proper steps may be 
taken for rendering it less costly. 

Examples illustrative of the necessity for 
this two-fold skill, might be accumulated to 
any amount ; we shall here only introduce a 
few, and these belonging to the latter class, 
as it requires no examples to convince the 
world that merely scientific men may be un- 
successful in the direction of commercial 
matters. The benefits accruing to the arts 
from purely scientific labours are less geue- 
rally appreciated. Before the discovery oi 
chlorine, the bleaching of linen, by exposure 
to air and moisture, occupied from four to six 
months, and could only be carried on suc- 
cessfully in some countries, as Holland, 
where the great dampness of the air, ren- 
dered its action more decided; but when 
Berth ollet applied the power of chlorine, 
the process was rendered available in eveiy 
country, and reduced in duration to a week. 
At present, it is usually completed in a day, 
and if there were any reason for such rapid- 
ity, 100 pieces of grey calico could be turned 
out of an ordinary bleach works, finished in 
six hours. In addition to the time thus saved, 
the process is cheaper, a^ the manufacturer 
may pass through his hands one hundred 
times as much goods : and it is safer ; the 
goods are much less injured ; fabrics are 
now made so delicate, that the exposure ne- 
cessary for the bleaching by the old process 
would have totally disorganized the fibre. 

The steam engine was created in its per- 
fect form by one of the most wonderful men 
that ever lived, James Watt of Glasgow. He 
was a working optician, but he did not im- 
prove the steam engine by rule of thumb pro- 
cesses or old receipts ; he was a scientific man 
of the highest order, and even before his 
great invention, his society was courtedf and 
his talents valued by the most distinguished 



MAmJFACTUBINQ BDOCATION. 



S3 



men. He first of all discovered the scien- 
tific principles by which the structure of the 
steam engine should be governed, and then 
he made the engine. There was nothing 
merely practical in it. He never tried would 
any thing do. At no stage of his labours did 
Watt give the engine any form that was not 
an immediate consequence of scientific 
reasoning, or that does not remain part of 
its most complete form at the present day. 

This scientific education, which enables 
the workman to invent new processes or to 
improve those previously in use, assumes its 
greatest value, when it is necessary, not 
merely to sustain the success of manufactures 
which have already been established, but to 
create new manufactures for a country, to 
develope its resources previously unexplored, 
or to mtroduce with safety branches of art 
which flourished already in a neighbouring 
and rival nation. It is then that science be- 
comes the leader of the indnstiy of the 
countiy, and warning the too sanguine of 
the false lights that might lead to unprofita- 
ble outlay, encouraging in their path those 
who are disheartened by the absence of im- 
mediate profit, it thus becomes the protector 
and pioneer of the arts and of mdustrial 
progress, and may give stability to what 
was at first but a praiseworthy exertion of 
patriotic enthusiasm. 

Thus at the close of her first revolution, 
France found that all Europe was arrayed 
against her independence, and that by the 
fleets of England, all intercourse with 
foreign nations was prevented. At every 
point of her frontier she was menaced by a 
foreign foe, and there did not exist in her 
arsenals a pound of powder, for making 
which the nitre had always been brought 
from the East Indies. There was not in 
the country the means of making a poimd 
of soap, or of importing from the Colonies 
a particle of sugar. The scientific men of 
France came to their country's aid, they 
imitated the processes by which nitre forms 
naturally between the tropics, and within a 
month battles were gained wiUi gimpowder, 
&bricated of home-made nitre. Inexhaust- 
ible sources of sugar were discovered in 
native plants ; the carrot, the parsnip, and 
finally the beet-root were found to yield 
supplies, which from the last-named sub- 
stance were so abundant and so cheap, that 
its cultivation now furnishes the sugur used 
by the greater part of Central Europe. For 
the manufacture of artificial soda, tne pro- 
cess of Leblanc was invented, which has 
been so successful as not only to have sup- 
plied the place of the Spanish Barilla on 



which France had been previously depend- 
ent ; but since its extensive introduction into 
England by Muspratt and Cookson, to have 
reduced the price of soda to about one-third, 
and to have increased the soap manu&cture 
in Great Britain tenfold. 

The necessity of this combination of 
scientific and practical knowledge, becomes 
remarkably evident on looking over the 
nature and history of improvements in the 
arts. Not one patent in one hundred ever 
repays to the inventor, a farthing of his out- 
lay. Many partially acquainted with 
scientific principles, but destitute of me- 
chanical experience, fix on some idea of in- 
creasing power, or of modif3dng mechanical 
arrangements, which on actual trial is found 
to be inferior to numerous arrangements pre- 
viously established. On the other hand, where 
an individual takes out a patent for a mechani- 
cal process, of which the theory remains un- 
known to him, his patent is invalidated by 
die slightest idteration in detail, of which 
many at once present themselves to one who 
understands its principles. His labours are 
therefore in such case at once appropriated 
by his more skilful rivals, and they are led, 
most likely, by their knowledge to improve 
his process another stage, and so outstrip 
him. 

We have selected our illustrations of the 
necessity for this mechanical and scientific 
skill from the ordinaiy mannfiicturing trades ; 
but in other departments it is just as neces- 
sary. In Cornwall, not many years i^, an 
ore of copper, which is now extensively and 
profitably worked, was thrown aside because 
it differed in appearance from that with which 
alone the miners were conversant, and it was 
by the accidental visit of a skilful chemist 
that its value was recognised. In Cornwall 
also, although not in the same mine, a valu- 
able ore of manganese was for a long time 
thrown away, because the persons managing 
the concern, and who were only copper 
miners, mistook it for common ironstone. It 
has come to our knowledge, that ores have 
been bought and sold at prices sometimes 
far above, and sometimes fieur below their- real 
value, firom the inaccurate mode of assaying 
used by the unskilled persons to whom that 
important oflice was entrusted, and thus min- 
ing adventure rendered still more uncertain 
and hazardous, than the varying conditions 
inseparable from underground operations re- 
quii^. 

In engineering, the necessity of this com- 
bination of skill, is more evidently remark- 
able than in, perhaps, any other branch of 
practical science. In stnking out lines for 





84 



MAKUFACTURINO EDUOATIof • 



nulways or canals ; in deciding upon the 
proper angle to be given to slopes for em- 
bankments, and the precise relation between 
the amount of cuttmg and filling, which 
may bring hill and valley to the most de- 
sirable inclination at the least possible ex- 
pense; 4here is required an amount of 
knowledge of scientific principles upon the 
one hand, — of experimental &cts for which 
no principle can rigidly be assigned, upon 
the other, besides a degree of tact in the 
combination of the two, which, only a mind 
well trained to accurate reasoning, and to ba- 
lance probabilities can acquire or command. 
The number of questions in practical me- 
chanics, particularly of liquids and vapours, 
for which pure science supplies positive so- 
lutions, is very limited. Experience, or ex- 
periment unenlightened by principle, ex- 
plains still fewer, and is especially danger- 
ous from its tendency to class toge&er, 
fiicts, superficially agreeing, but differing 
completely in their essence. The combi- 
nation of the two, is alone capable of guid- 
ing the great works, whether public or of 
private enterprise, on which so much of 
European progress, and especially the im- 
provement of our own country, at present 
essentially depend. 

It is, however, only recently that the ne- 
cessity for this peculiar practical education 
has been felt ; the enormous developement 
given to every department of social indus- 
try, by the long peace with which Europe has 
been blessed, and the intense spirit of com- 
petition which it created between coimtries 
as well as individuals, with the desire to econ- 
omise time as well as money, led to the 
trial of new processes of manufacture, as well 
as new modes of communication, for which 
the spirits of the preceding epoch, engrossed 
with schemes of military aggrandizement, 
had not sought. In one respect indeed, 
this education had been required, and it 
was, in that department,given 'with splendid 
success ; the colossal enterprises of Napo- 
leon depended upon rapid execution for 
most of their results, and hence, a corps of 
skilful engineers was wanted; to create 
that corps the Polytechnic school was formed, 
and a course of engineering study, com- 
bining the highest scientific, with the best 
practical instruction, was drawn up, which 
has produced more beneficial results in 
France, up. to the present day, than almost 
any other of her institutions. But the 
men educated in that school were, and are 
still reserved to the state ; they all receive 
government appointments. The number of 
students admitted annually is about one I 



hundred and twenty; of these, about ten 
either die or leave the school from various 
causes, and hence, the number appointed 
is generally about one hundred and ten. 
The following list contains the distribution, 
according to the latest returns we have been 
able to obtain : — 

Prior to 1837- In 1837. In 1838. 

LandArtiUery 1696 17 22 

Sea Artillery 55 12 

General SUff 25 3 3 

Marine Engineers 118 2 3 

Military Engineers 917 18 20 

Geographers 108 „ „ 

Hydrographers 13 1 „ 

Marine (Navy) 105 4 5 

Mining Engineers 136 5 7 

Civil Engineers 718 47 47 

Gunpowder and Sal^[wtre 

Works 19 „ 1 

Tobacco Works 7 1 1 

Troops of the Line 119 4 „ 

4036 103 111 



It is evident that this school is really 
a militaiy institution ; its main object being 
to supply the army and navy with compe- 
tent engineers. Hence it is observable that 
prior to 1837, the numbers entering the 
army preponderate enormously ; but that of 
late years the proportion is completely 
changed. The change is, however, much 
greater th^n at first sight would appear. 
At the final examination, the pupils are 
catalogued in the orider of their excellence^ 
and the first man chooses his own ap- 
pointment, then the second, and so on; 
no man can select his place until all those 
more distinguished than he is, have been 
served. But it is found that the military 
places are left for the inferior men ; the 
four or five best men always become min- 
ing engineers, and pass to the school of 
mines, according as there are vacancies. 
The ereat crowd of good men then distri- 
bute themselves as civil and military engi- 
neers, and the artillery and the troops of 
the line are supplied with those only who 
cannot get any thing else. But although 
it be in a civil capacity that the best poly- 
technic students enter the servioe of the 
state, yet they all become dependent on the 
government, and the nation at large cannot 
claim their services. It is only by special 
grace, that a mining engineer belonging to 
the school of mines can pass to a private 
employment, and then only, as it were, on 
furlough, for a specified time, and liable to 
be recalled if the government xequire his 
services. It is the same with the dvil en- 



MANUFACTURING KDUOATION. 



35 



gineers (Ingenieurs des Fonts et Chaus- 
sets). 

For the founjaUon of an institution fit- 
ted to render the country mdependent of 
the whim of its rulere, in the matter of 
practical education, and to place at the dis- 
posal of the public a class of well informed 
engineers, directors of manufactories and 
architects, — France is indebted to the exer- 
tion of one of her most eminent and elo- 
quent scientific men, M. Dumas, and one 
already distinguished for activity and bene- 
volence, M. Lavellee. To the former the 
conception of the idea, and the manage- 
ment of all the det^s is due ; but without 
the spirit and single-mindedness of the latter 
the project could jiot have been achieved. 
In a country like France, where every thing 
was done by the government and with its 
aid; where all funds for science and edu- 
cation came from the state, a school was 
to be founded in direct opposition to the 
dearest object of the goveniment ; and the 
experiment, an important one in France, — 
of professional education in private hands, 
was to be tried. When Dumas spoke of 
the scheme to Lavellee, the difficulty was 
the funds. Lavellee said, I am worth so 
much a year, I must retain a small sum to 
Hve upon, I place the rest at your disposal 
for the support of the school till its capabi- 
lities are' fairly tried, and if it fails I shall 
regret the loss of so good an institution, but 
not of the money. His noble self-denial 
was not put to the proof beyond the first 
few weeks. On the day on which the 
school was opened, the number of applicants 
was double that which the building could 
accommodate; and there issues from its 
walls, aimually, for the last six years, an 
average of one hmidred and eighty fully 
^Miucated practical men, conversant with 
every means of combining art and science, 
so that they may most benefit each other. 

This' institution is called the central 
school of arts and manufactures, (Ecole 
Ceutrale des Arts et Manufactures ) . I ts ob- 
ject, as stated in the prospectus issued by 
the managers, is, to educate civil engineers* 
superintendants of workshops, ma^agj^s 
o( factories, and teachers of the sciences ap- 
plied to the arts. 

The complete range of stu^y to fulfil 
these objects extends over . three years. 
The student at emmu^re i? stoctly exwiimi^ 
in aritbinetiq, vulgar and decimaly~<-in a)-; 
gdb[i-<i and g^9V(iefiy ; and tQ Qbtain a ife-i 
sp^plable' place lat ^atrancei im element^ 
knowledge of ythe qb^LcuIus is neces^sar^; 

For.fh^ firsl;,yflai;,dl Mu^e»4?. appJxrt^W 



selves to the same objects, in order to obtain 
a well grounded knowledge of those depart- 
ments of science and art which are neces- 
sary to all practical occupations. At the 
end of the year there is an examination, 
and such students as do not give promise of 
distinction fi*om their intelligence and in- 
dustry, are dismissed from the school. 

This examination having been successfully 
undergone, the student is j-equired to de- 
clare wh^t is to be his profession, as his 
subsequent studies must be directed spe- 
cially with reference to it. The profes- 
sional departments are, — 

First, Construction of machines and 
mechanical arts. 

Second. Construction of edifices and 
public works, including railways, canals, 
roads and bridges, heating and lighting of 
buildings and cities. In a word, civil en- 
gineering and architecture. 

Third. Technical chemistry, including 
tanning, manufacture of pottery, glass, oil 
of vitriol, chloride of lime, prussiate of 
potash, sJum, soda; vinegar making; pre- 
paration of colours, sugar, the chemistry of 
dying ; in a word, the chemical arts in their 
most extended sense. 

Fourth, Wo/king of mines and metal- 
lurgy. 

During the second and third years of 
their studirs, the candidates apply them- 
selves, by reading, by lectures, and by 
working practically, to the acquisition of a 
complete knowledge of the branches that 
they may have selected. At the end of the 
second year another examination is under- 
gone, to test the progress made, before the 
student is. admitted into the third and final 
class ; and at the termination of the entire 
course, a strict and practical examination 
must be passed through, before the diploma 
of capability to exercise the profession 
chosen, can be granted. 

What renders the final examinaUon of 
great interest to the students, and a secur 
rity to the public that they shall be properly 
qualified, is the following : — 

A few d^ys bedCore the etxaminatipn, a 
probl^m is given to each st^deoit, of the 
following Ifindy apcording to his profes- 
sion,—- 

Iiet MS suppose he is to be a majiufiBu^- 
turi&g chemist. A capitalist,. places at his 
dispcisal £10,000 to commence mao^fac- 
turisig hard sofip9 and fbi: that, to pircfiiaire 
his own ffoda. He is requix^ tp draw, ^- 
cf(»rding to a scale, plans of eveiy fiQitiqn 
pf thQ factory, qf such Hi^gutnda tj^^t.^^e 
fiapifal ^ Hs )^^f sji.g*ild g^ it fairly i^ 
' 2 



36 



MANUFACTURING EDUCATION. 



work,-*to calculate the quantity of raw ma- 
terials that could be worked up, — and the 
quantity of maiiufactiured product that could 
be turned out of such a factory, — to deter- 
mine from the current prices, the cost of 
labour, of materials, charging for risk, and 
ultimately return a financied statement of 
the amount of profit that might be expected, 
or if so, to what extent the branch of ma- 
nufacture might be, under existing circum- 
stances, a source of loss. 

If, on the other hand, his profession is 
to be a constructor of machines, he is re- 
quired to give in similar plans, for the most 
])rofitable investment of a certain capital in 
flax mills, silk mills, cotton mills, etc. as 
the examiners may propose, — ^to determine 
the greatest number of looms and spindles 
that could be driven with that capital, — the 
amount of raw material necessary for keep- 
ing those machines at work, — the amount of 
produce, — ^rate of loss by wear and all sour- 
ces of failure, — and, as before, to return a 
calculation of the amount of profit or loss 
which the speculation would be likely to 
produce. 

For a civil engineer, the best conditions 
under which ^ecified works could be car- 
ried on, — the practicability of certain sug- 
festions, — ^the relative economy of others, 
^lans for the emplo3anent of capital in 
railways or canals between places, — the pro- 
bable traffic, and geographical conditions of 
which are given, — are also required. 

For the miner and metallurgist, it is ne- 
cessary to present drawings of the best plans 
for draining and ventilating shafts of speci- 
fied depths and inclinations, — to arrange a 
series of dressing, picking, and smelting 
houses, on a scale commensurate to the 

firoduce which the supposed mine is calcu- 
ated to afford, — to examine and report on 
the modes of excavation and smelting adopt- 
ed in various countries, their relative cost, 
— the local: circumstances which might in- 
duce the adoption of one or of another, and 
to explain their scxetitific theories. 

These memours are the highest tests of 
capability. So much intelligence and study 
is devoted to their dnkwing up, that they 
fluently cau^e the immediate appointment 
of their authora to lucrative situations) not 
merely in Prance, but frequently in foreign 
cbutitries; thus,^-4i plan was jriven in at «3t- 
amimition, two' years ago, for the manu- 
factm'e ctf jitesric acid candles, which was so 
complete in its details, labd so accurate in 
its^ economic cakulations, that the writer 
w^'immedifttelyemployed to"fomid oiiein 
Paris; theiianotiier in St PetersbU]f;b; 



one in Naples, and up to last summer there 
had been constructed in difierent parts of 
Europe six extensive factories, exactly ac- 
cording to that plan. 

There are two copies of each memoir 
made out, and all plans and drawings are 
lithographed in the school. The author 
retains one copy, the other belongs to the 
school ; and, during their second and third 
yeara of study, the pupils are occupied in 
copying the plans, and familiarizing them- 
selves with the arrangement and style of the 
best productions of their predecessors, and 
thus, the student becomes the possessor of 
a great collection of drawings, plans, and 
estimates, which no person but a pupil of the 
school can have access to. 

The immediate details of the course of 
study we do not purpose now entering into ; 
they embody a vast and complete course of 
education for each practical profession ; and 
the most eminent men of raris are num- 
bered amon^ its professors. 

So remarkably successful has this institu- 
tion been, that the French government has 
often attempted to get some hand in its 
arrangement. At firat, they proposed that 
the state' should pay part of its expenses, 
such as rent, &c. Then, that the professors 
should be salaried by the state. Both of 
these propositions were refused. At last 
the muiister of public . works granted to 
the prefect of each department a certain 
sum (in all 17,()00 francs) to pay the ex- 
penses of educatuig at the school a number 
of young men, two or three from each de- 
partment, who should get those places at a 
public examination to be held annually in 
the chief town of each department. To 
this of courae, the cotmcil of the school 
could not object ; all they wanted by keep- 
ing it a private school, being, that a student 
on receiving his diploma should be at full 
liberty to employ his energies as he liked 
best, and not to be tied up to the govern- 
ment in any way. 

Our space does not allow us to allude to 
the arrangements of other similar institu-' 
tions in Belgium, in Prussia, and eren in 
Austria, but we shall briefly notice what has 
been very recently done, much nearer home, 
in England. 

It is but tt couple of yean smce the first 
step was made towards giving a regular 
education to civil and minmg engineers, by 
the estaUishment of a' course of Ifietures on 
those' subjects in the tmiversity of Dur- 
ham. ' The proximity of that place to the 
great mining fields of Ciimberland and 
Notthumberiimdi trasj perhaps, the* reason 



MANUFACTCRINQ EDUCATION. 



87 



why the want was more keenly felt, and 
that the success of the attempt appeared 
more prohahle than in other places. But 
long hefore that time, in 1825, Mr. John 
Taylor, one of the most extensive and best 
informed mining proprietors in England, 
printed a prospectus, which now lies before 
us. After a masterly survey of the injury 
caused by the want of knowledge on the 
part of the superintendants and workers of 
the mines in Cornwall, and describing the 
benefits which would ensue from their being 
properly educated to their business ; he laid 
down the plan Tor the formation of a school 
of mines, in which the branches of science 
and art, which are of use in mining and 
metallurgy, should be taught. His scheme 
was neany that, though much less exten- 
sive, which we have ourselves felt the be- 
neficial etfects of in Freiburg, (Saxony) 
except that the mining school of Freiburg, 
(Bei^ Academie) is supported by the state, 
whilst Mr. Taylor proposed that the Cornish 
school of mines should be supported by 
contributions firom the mine proprietors of 
the district. Mr. Taylor's plan fell to the 
ground at that time, but last summer. 
Sir Charles Lemon, the munificent mem- 
ber for Cornwall, although himself not 
a mining proprietor, offered to carry the 
whole plan into effect almost at his own 
expense, on certain conditions, one of 
which, we regret to say, was, that the 
coU^^ should belong to a particular 
form of religion. At the same time both 
collies of Uie university of London have 
opened engineering courses. In King's 
College, Mr. Daniell, Mr. Moseley, Mr. 
Cooper, and Mr. Tennant, form an excel- 
lent body of professors; hut, unfortunately^ 
the extent of education proposed, is very 
circumscribed, and we fear that the diplo- 
ma of civil engineer from King's College 
is not likely to require much knowledge. 
In University College, as far as we could 
learn, they have not advanced even so far. 
In addition, there has been, within the last 
year, established at Kentish Town, near 
London, a distinct College of Engineering. 
While all this activity has been manifested 
upon the Continent and in Eneland, what 
has been done here ? Absolutely nothing ; 
and yet there is no country in the world in 
which practical education is more required, 
or in which it would be productive of more 
immediate benefit, and there never was a 
time so well calculated for its favourable re- 
ception as the present. Our cotmtrv has 
just emeiged fnm the whirlpool of political 
discontent and social enmity, which had 



bound down in fetters of adamant her legi- 
timate industrial capabilities for centuries. 
Her people are peaceable, temperate, and 
endowed with energy and industry adapted 
to succeed in the most laborious tasks, and 
minds as capable of intellectual attainments 
as those of any other race. We are now 
first beginning, to appreciate the inexhaust- 
ible sources of wealth, which our fertile soil, 
our mountains rich in the most productive 
ores, our coasts thronged with the most valua- 
ble fish) and adapted to the most profitable 
traffic, present to our acceptance; and we 
have discovered by the arrangement of levels 
in the interior of the country, that for faci- 
lities of internal transport by railways or 
canals, Ireland is not to be excelled. It only 
remains that to utilize those great natural 
advantages, we should become educated to 
those practical professions, for which the in- 
stitutions alreaay noticed have been estab- 
lished in other countries. . To work our 
mines successfully, we must become skilful 
mining engineers and metallurgists. To 
develope, without the extravagant expense 
and ruinous loss, through which success has 
been gained in England, the internal com- 
munication by railways, and the navigation 
of our lakes and rivers, we must become 
well educated civil engineers. To manufacture 
with success we must learn our ren>ective 
trades, for as the Mofydng Chraniete verj 
plausibly said when conunenting on one of the 
Irish manufacture meetings lately held, to 
succeed we should have capital, and we are 
poor — ^we should be educated, and we are 
ignorant — ^we must be orderly and quiet, and 
our trades are combined in a system of in- 
timidation. We have therefore our success 
to make. We possess all the materials for a 
complete success, if only we be true to oiur- 
selves and to our country. 

But it may be asked cannot our young 
men learn these things in England P Will not 
a short time spent in Manchester, with Sharp 
and Roberts, or with Fairbam, make a bet- 
ter machinist than could be effected in Dub- 
lin by any system of education ? We say, 
no— we say that a yotmg man who learns to 
make one steam engine in Mallet's or in 
Robinson's is as well educated as if he saw 
one hundred of the same sort made in Man- 
chester, and that in those great establish- 
ments, the education of the apprentice is 
not the direct object of the owner. A young 
man after paying a large fee to become ap- 
prentice in an engine factory, and thus giving 
un/^ for seven years, his whole time to the 
service of his master, is taught nothing. He 
may learn a great deal — ^he is placed under 



38 



MANUFACTURING BDUCATIOK* 



very favouiuble circumstances for learning, 
but the information lie acquires, is taken by 
himself, and is not communicated to bim. 
He may come out when his apprenticeship 
is over, an accomplished machinist, but he 
may also be found, and we have met several 
such, — incapable of passing a step out of the 
routine of the workshop in which he had 
spent his time, skilled in one or two me- 
chanical operations, but ignorant of the prin- 
ciples by which their success in after life 
must be decided. It must be recollected 
that whilst a workman is to learn facts, the 
superiutendant requires principles, and in 
the large machine factories of Manchester, 
principles are not taught. 

In mining operations it becomes espe- 
cially necessary that the education of the 
miner should be peculiarly directed to the 
country where he is afterwards to work.* The 
results of mining enterprize depend on a 
minute appreciation of all the circumstances 
of the geology of the district. A miner 
educated in Cornwall, or in Northumber* 
land, is totally at fault when he goes to work 
in Wicklow, Waterford, or Clare, and must 
be educated over again in a knowledge of the 
country, before he can be of much use. The 
composition of the adhering rock, the nature 
of other minerals occasionally mixed, -may 
affect very much the metallui^c processes 
subsequently required. 

But we do not al all admit the principle 
that we shoidd be obliged or expected to go 
to England for ed ucation which we should have 
offered to ns, equally good, at home. We do 
not approve of the system, which was very 
graphically described to ourselves by a mem- 
ber of a government board, one day afler 
dinner, when his heart was a little opened, — 
that we must get every thing of importance 
done here by Englishm^i and Scotchmen 
for a generation or two, and perhaps then, by 
having looked on so long, the Irishmen 
might gradually be allowed to take such 
things into their own management. We 



believe that the sooner we begin to learn, 
the better, and that men learn a great 
deal quicker by working with their own 
hands than by merely looking on. We are, 
therefore, for education in the practical pro- 
fessions, carried on at home and by Irishmen, 
for we decidedly maintain that our city pos- 
sesses more than enough of men eminently 
qualified for such a task. Indeed, since we 
commenced writing on this subject, a pam- 
phlet has been placed in our hands, printed 
last year, from which we learn, that as a pri- 
vate speculation, Mr. Gregory, a distinguish- 
ed civil engineer of this city, has actually 
founded a school of civil enghieering, based 
upon, principles, which coincide very closely 
with those which we have endeavoured to 
show should regulate instruction in that 
branch. We learn that Mr. Gregory's plan 
has been attended with considerable success, 
both to himself and to the students whom 
he has had under his care. But a private 
institution such as his, cannot fulfil the great 
object of complete practical education for 
the country at large, and hence, notwith- 
standing that we wish him and his pupils all 
the success that tlieir enterprise and perse- 
verance so well deserve, we yet contemplate 
the plan of engineering education which he 
has proposed, and the favourable manner in 
which it has been received by those inter- 
ested in that branch of science, as indicat- 
ing only the great want of education that had 
existed, and not by any means that the want 
has been supplied. 

We would advise, therefore, all those that 
wi^ to see Irish manufacture rapidly and 
steadily established, our mining and agricul- 
ural capabilities properly developed, the in- 
ternal communication and foreign commerce 
of the country advanced and extended to the 
degree which a bounteous Providence, by 
its geographical position, and geological 
structure, has indicated as its due— to provide 
for sound practical education, in engineer- 
ing, agriculture, mining, and manu&ctures. 



*^^»^^^^>^S^»^»^^^S^h^i»»^^^^^<W^^>^^^^ 



HAXWrON ROWAN. 



89 



HAMILTON ROWAN.* 



PART I. 



If we do not some time or other possess 
a good history of the half century that pre- 
ceded the Union — a period not only so re- 
markable in the history of Ireland^ but also, 
as regards the general experience of the 
world, so novel in many of its aspects, so 
startling in many of its results — ^it will cer- 
tainly not be for want of materials of suffi- 
cient copiousness and variety. The lives of 
Cbarlemont, Flood, Grattan, Curron, Tone, 
and Fitzgerald, have already been written, 
if not always with the requisite courage and 
impartiality, at least with care and ability a 
good deal above the average of biographies. 
The historical compilations of Plowden,Mac- 
neven, Barrington, Seward, and others, al- 
though none of them of a high order, are 
yet, as the productions of cotemporaries and 
eye-witnesses, full of instruction for the can- 
did enquirer. The host of pamphlets also, 
with which the press teemed during the en- 
tire of that eventful struggle, aifords a wide 
field for research, and one whose riches are 
as yet unknown and unexplored: to this 
class of writings the efforts of Swift and Lu- 
cas had, at an earlier period, given an influ- 
ence and importance scarcely paralleled in 
any other country, and which tended in 
some degree to compensate for the scanti- 
ness and inefficiency of the newspaper press 
at that time. Again, the memoirs and per- 
sonal narratives of Holt, Teeling, Sampson, 
Hay, and a variety of other publications, of 
different degrees of merit, contain the ri<;h- 
est materials for picturesque and effective 
history. To these is now added the Auto- 
biography of Archibald Hamilton Rowan, a 
man whose residence among us helped, for 
many years, to keep alive in our daily 
thoughts the memory of the contest in which 
he had been engaged. DweUing among us in 
secimty and respect, his manly presence was 
an unceasing testimony to the worth of those 
of whom he was almost the sole smrivor ; 
like a solitary oak still growing where once { 
a forest had been, not the grandest perhaps, l 



or firmest of that giant race, but still a no- 
ble tree, which the storm that levelled all 
else had somehow passed over and spared. 

There is no sort of reading more imiver- 
sally popular than biography; and auto- 
biography is surely not its least attractive 
species. It is most desirable that many 
autobiographies should be written, and we 
hope, as the tide of literature spreads and 
deepens, to see their number greatly in- 
creased, anticipating as we do a correspond- 
ing improvement in quality. For as yet it 
is an ugly fact in literary history,- that too 
many of the best autobiographies are the 
work of men who ought never to have un* 
dertaken such a task. There is a self-res- 
pect that genius of the highest order owes 
unto itself, which we cannot but conceive to 
be violated by disclosures of a certain kind. 
Not that dignity is a thing for high or low 
to stand on thorns about, if they knew but 
all : walking on stilts is at best a tiresome 
exercise, and only rational or pardonable in 
very marshy districts. Nevertheless there are 
matters, and those unworthy of the slight 
the world is prone to cast on them, concern- 
ing which a man whom fate hath led, 
scarred perhaps, but still victorious, through 
the ord€»l and fiery whirlwind of contending 
thought and passion, ought to have respect 
imto himself^ and — sim^y hold his tongue 
about them. 

We cannot help thmking that such men 
as Rousseau aod Goethe, have, all things 
considered, done the world more harm than 
good, by the minute analysis of their early 
history, which they hare bequeathed to after 
generations. It is, in some respects, an im- 
clean and unwholesome thing to see a man 
of such an order, a bom king of men, a ruler 
by right divine over the hearts and souls of 
his generation, or many generations, sever- 
ing with chirurgic coolness the tissues of his 
dead departed afiections, the truest glories of 
his life. It chills the pulse of honest en- 
thusiasm, to listen to a patriarch of sorrow 



* Autobios^phy of Archibald HAMtLTOir Rowan, Esq. With Additions and IDiistratioiis, by 
WniiiAM Hamiltor Dbummond, D.]>., M.B.I. A. Dublfai, Tegg and Co. 1840. 



40 



HAMILTON BOWAN, 



aad song, telling with frigid philosophic in- 
difference the Btoiy of his ancient loves and 
hates, his trials, his sins, his sufferings ; 
lecturing, as it were, on the anatomy of me, 
with the corpse of his early self hefore him. 
Such work, m our opinion, has a teindency 
to undermine (in common with many other 
strongholds of morality, which the last three 
centuries have heen incessantly homharding) 
that safeguard of sUence and ohscurity, that 
sacredness of home, which erewhile clothed 
with a graceful garment the nakedness of 
life, and cherished in purity and warmth the 
hearts of many a generation ; hearts nurtured 
into simpleness and strength hy truly nohle 
influences, and dreading the rebuke of far 
other censors than newspapers and police— 
the moral satraps of our present dwarfed ex- 
istence. 

Men, howeyer» are above all things desi- 
rous to gratify their curiosity, and will there- 
fore always drink in with greedy ear the re- 
cital of the like details. Such self-histortans 
as ive have spoken of will therefore ever be 
their prime favourites. And we allow that 
much or almost everything of the kind, de- 
pends on the what and the how. We 
should be sorry to quarrel with Jean Paul 
for the frolicsome minuteness, brimful too of 
the deepest pathos, with which he brings be- 
fore us the glories of his childhood. We 
have not recently experienced a greater 
pleasure than in the perusal of Romilly's 
early history, as retraced by himself with 
such a lingering fondness of recollection ; the 
still current of a deep affection mellowing 
into a radiant poetry, the plainest and most 
unpretending narrative. Would that we had 
thousands of such histories; but of such 
autobiographies as Rousseau's and Goethe's, 
disclosing secrets which should never have 
been spoken of, violating sanctities which 
ought above all to have been respected, the 
fewer we have the better. The repentant 
fervour of the former, the vivid grace of the 
latter, the importance, in literary history, of 
what has been revealed to us by both, will 
never induce us to pardon them such wrong 
' to mankind and to tnemselves. 

On the other hand, anxious as we are to 
see men of lively powers, and endowments 
not arising to sublimity of genius, under- 
take the labour of writing theur own history, 
we must acknowledge that there are im- 
mense difficulties in the way. A good auto- 
biography is an excessively difficult achieve- 
ment, and needs, for the most moderate suc- 
cess, some powers at least of a high order, 
and indeed so rare as at once to entitle their 
possessor to rank an undisputed genius. 



Often in reading such productionsi and for 
example, on coming to the end of the work of 
which we are proceeding to give an account, 
have we been forced to exclaim, laying down 
the book in despair, — Is that all P — ^Was 
this a man's life ? To be sure, the reply of 
our own thoughts almost andcipated our 

Suery: — ^This was not all; 'tis simply all 
lat the unfortunate narrator was able to re- 
member or relate ; and under the most fa- 
vourable circumstances how little must that 
be ? Is not the life of the meanest man on 
earth more than the greatest could, with the 
labour of a life-time, adequately chronicle, 
much less satLsfiustorily account for ? The 
truest joys, the deepest sorrows of life — ^its 
streng^, its weakness, its meanness, its sub- 
limity, — what words shall describe them, 
what endowment of graphic power avail to 
paint even their shadow P The sunshine 
and the storms of life, its brightness and 

Sloom, its pride and passion, its vigour and 
ecay, ye may mimic, ye sons of men, but 
new create you cannot The highest poet 
onl^ twines a garland of autumn leaves, on 
which, as it crowns his anxious brow, men 
gaze, till in memoiy or in hope, the leaves 
seem green again, and the fiice of that man 
transfigured with a brightness which is not 
of earth. Alas I 'tis an idle delusion all, 
glad though it make your hearts. To an- 
chor in the stream of time, even his strength 
may not avail you. He floats on the waters 
himself, motionless tliough he appear. If 
men were not always attempting tasks be- 
yond their strength, 'twere wonderful how 
they beguile themselves and others with 
such fantastic semblance. The unconscious 
dreams of infancy, the sprightliness of child- 
hood, the fervour of youth, the fierce inten- 
sity of manhood, the gradual Tesignation of 
old age, — what power shall awaken them 
from the tomb of the past, and make them 
alive and real P The trustful purity of our 
young years, the infinite exaltation of 
early love, the lonely sufferings of later Ufe, 
the burthen of the infirmities and sorrows 
which wean the aged from existence ; our 
joys and our sorrows alike, — who shall re- 
cidl them even in memory, or gather with 
unwavering hand the tangled threads of his 
history P The joys and sorrows alike, nine- 
tenths of them are forgotten. The tide of 
oblivion hath swept them away. Gather the 
wrecks together, and 'tis all thou knowest of 
thy life. Arrange, and name, and number 
them, and 'tis all thou canst tell of thy his- 
tory. Surely autobiography is a very im- 
penect thing. 
So much for what men may succeed in 



HAMILTON ROWAN. 



41 



relating of themselves. To record what 
they have ohserred of others is on the whole 
an easier task» and in most cases more 
likely to benefit those for whose service or 
approval thev midertake snch labour. All 
books mast have some merit of this kind, 
and that may be called a decent autobiogra- 
phy^ which has a good ded of it. Thia 
praise cannot be denied the work before us, 
meagre and defective though it be in many 
essentials. We shall proc^ to give a brief 
account of it, passing in review the most 
noted events of a life cast in stirring times, 
and chequered by unusual vicissitudes of 
good and evil fortune. We should observe 
that the memoir was written by Mr. Rowan 
for the use of his own children, and that it 
is marked throughout by the utmost frank- 
ness of sentiment and plainness of style. 
There 'is not the slightest trace of any 
straining at effect, or attempt on the writ- 
er's part to appear other than he was. 
Much as the reader may regret the scanti- 
ness of the details, he can hardly avoid plac- 
ing the most implicit reliance on everything 
which the modest autobiographer has 
thought it expedient to tell him. 

Mr. Rowan's memoir commences, as it is 
natural that the life of ah estated gentleman 
should, — ^with some account of his ancestors. 
But with this we have nothing to do, unless 
to remark that the families of Hamilton, and 
of Rowan, were both Scottish by origin, and 
owed their location in Ireland to that (by a 
certain class of writers) much lauded mea- 
sure of James I., ycleped the plantation of 
Ulster. The Hamiltons struck deep root 
immediately, and spread their branches far 
and wide. The Rowans doubtless throve 
also, though in a quieter way, as less ap- 
pears to be known of their lot in the land of 
their adoption. William Rowan, however, 
a sturdy scion of the race, was intended for 
the church, and sent in consequence to Tri- 
ni^ College, Dublin. Here, though elected 
a fellow, he refused to fulfil his father s in- 
tentions, and resigned his fellowship rather 
than take the oaths necessary for ordination. 
" He then attached himself to the study of 
the law,-*^ and some years af^r, when the 

* Of this period of his life his gprandson tells the 
followinj^ characteristic anecdote :— 

" When going to London to keep his terms, he 
engaged a seat in the stage-coach from Chester. 
His feUow-traTcllers were five Londoners, return- 
ing Arom Chester linen fair. In the course of 
conyersation, they soon became aware of the 
birth-place of their companion. The conTersatiou 
turned, as usual, on Ughwaymen, and a report 
that there was an Irishman who infested that road, 
and who let notUng pass him. It was then de< 



lay fellowships were first established, he was 
again elected to that for law, and received 
the unsolicited office of legal adviser to the 
Colleg e." He was afterwards made a King's 
Counsel. Having acquired a competent 
fortune by his profesaon, he purchased an 
estate, married, and, apparently to gratify 
his wife, went to reside m London,f whither 
also, at a later period, his son-in-law, 
Gawin Hamilton, of KillUeagh, " whose for- 
tune, like that of many Irish gentlemen, 
had need of nursing," thought proper to re- 
tire; and where, accordingly, Archibald 
Hamilton was bom, on die 12th of May, 
1751, 0. s. 

Mr. Rowan's whig predilections and as- 
sociates, as well as his rugged independence 
of character, appear to have had not a little 

dared by the Londoners^ that they would never 
submit to be robbed by any single man, whateTer 
might be attempted by an Englishman ; but by an 
Irishman the thing was impomible. This declara- 
tion was followed by numerous Jests on the Irish 
character. Mr. Rowan, upon this, detennined to 
put their Taunting to the test. On the last day 
but one of their journey, he pretended to have 
some business to transact with a person who lived 
a short distance off the high road, and said it 
would not occupy him more than an hour, and that 
he would be able to rejoin them the next day, by 
hiring a horse for one stage. He waited unttt 
dusk, then pursued the coach, stopped it, and 
made them deliver their effects ; (I have the ink- 
horn which served him for a pistt^l,) and on the 
next morning at breakfast he rejoined them. 
During the day the Jokes were entirely on Mr. 
Rowan's side, as he insisted it must have been his 
countryman who had robbed them ; and they were 
obliged to borrow cash Arom him to discharge 
their bills. After dinner, however, he insisted on 
giving them a bottle to drink the health of hia 
countryman. He then put their efllBcts in his hat, 
acknowledged the trick, and laying it on the ta- 
ble, desired every one to pick out his own. The 
party continued their journey in apparent good 
humour ; but when they arrived in London, one of 
them slipped out of the hotel at which the coach 
stopped, procured a constable, and gave him into 
custody, charging him with a highway robbery. 
The frolic might have cost him dear, had he not 
been known to the uncle of the Rev. Mr. Lovatt, 
who was an intimate friend of Sir Robert Walpole, 
and by his interest procured his discharge." 

t He had a house in Rathbone-place, of which, 
and the free and easy lives of its inhabitants, his 
grandson supplies us virith the following reminis- 
cence : — 

" Rathbone-place at that thne was the extre- 
mity of London, on that side. A large reservoir, 
which supplied a corn-mill, lay at one end of it, 
and there was only a foot passage by it from Lon- 
don, which was closed every night. The ground 
on either side of this reservoir was then divided 
into several stripes of gardens, fenced firom each 
other by treillages, and occupied by Irish emi- 
grants, who then abounded in Soho^ and were ac- 
customed to spend the evenings in singing, danc- 
ing, and other amnseiiieiits of tlwir own coontry." 



42 



HAMILTON ROWAN. 



influence in directing the early tendencies 
of his grandson and heir, who tells us : — 

** My grandfather's plan for my education was, 
that after receiving my early schooling I should 
be sent to Westminster ; but not before I should 
enter the upper schooL Accordingly I was sent to 
a then famous school, kept at Maryiebone, by a Mr. 
Fountain; and it was my grandfather's custom to 
send for me every Saturday, to see what progress 
I was making. Either he expected too much, or 
I was idle, for I, was generally sent back on Mon- 
day with a letter, disapproving of their mode of 
education. A Monsieur De Morand, an emigrant, 
was French tutor. He had taken a fancy for me, 
whom he called $<m petit Malebranche, and fre- 
quently has he gone over my lessons with me pre- 
vious to my weekly examinations by my grand- 
father. 

** I now passed two years in my grandfather's 
house ; he was of a choleric habit, while I was 
giddy and negligent, and therefore this time passed 
heavily enough ; but by his iustructions I was pre- 
pared for the upper remove of the fourth form at 
Westminster, of which the head master, who af- 
terwards became Archbishop of Yorlc, was the 
son of his old chum, Mi^or Markham. While I 
resided with my grandfather, I do not recollect 
his having ever urged any particular religious doc- 
trine. His chief object seemed to be, to give me 
good principles, and leave the rest to myself. I 
attended the Established Church ceremonies with 
Mr. Bowan ; and the chief squabbles which oc- 
curred between him and Mrs. Rowan were, that 
he did not enforce her religious principles upon 
me with the same energy that he did my scholas- 
tic exercises. 

** The opinions, however, which had influenced 
him to decline tiUdng orders when first elected 
fellow of Trinity College, seemed never to have 
been shaken, for his n^ commenced thus: — ' In 
the name of the one only self-existent Being.' In 
the same instrument he made me his 'heir, and ex- 
pressed himself as follows: — *From personal af- 
fection, and in the hope that he shall become a 
learned, sober, honest man, live unbribed and un- 
pensioned, aealous for the rights of his country, 
loyal to his King, and a true Protestant, without 
bigotry to any sect, I give my property to Archi- 
bald Hamilton.' He also ordered that I should 
bear his name in addition to that of my father ; 
that I should be educated at one of the British 
Universities, imd should not go to Ireland until I 
was twenty-five years old, or should forfeit the 
income of the estate during such time as I should 
remain there. 

" After my grandfather s death, (in 1767,) I 
was sent to Westminster, and my father quitted 
his house in Brook-street, and took one from 
Bonn^ Thornton, in the neighbourhood of the 
school. Mr. Thornton was a man of wit, and an 
intimate friend of Charles Churchill and Bobert 
Lloyd, to whom he introduced my father, and who 
afterwards became Sequent visitors at our house. 
These, with Doctor Charles Lucas, from Ireland, 
and several opposition English members, formed 
his political circle, and no doubt had an influence 
on my early sentiments. 

** The time for my entering one of the universi- 
ties having arrived, and my father's aflEairs requir- 
ing his presence in Ireland, he determined on send- 
ing me to Cambridge, and procured letters ^f re- 
eomnieodation to the B«t« John Jebb» then a 



fellow of Peterhonse College. This gentleman 
then possessed two livings near Cambridge, which 
with his private pupls in the university, formed 
the cWef of his income. His wife, IDss Talking- 
ton, possessed sentiments, political and religious, 
similar to his own, and she a|n^ed with him in 
the propriety of throwing up those livings, rather 
than, as he expressed his feelings on the subject, 
* to act a lie weekly in the presence of the God of 
truth.' 

" On throwing off his ecclesiastical gown, he 
retired to Leyden, where he studied medicine, and 
obtained the degree of M. D. To this most ex- 
cellent man's care, or rather patronage, I was 
committed ; and I am proud to say, that though I 
deviated considerably from the line of conduct 
he pointed out to me, I retained his friendship and 
correspondence to the last year of his life." 

Both at Westminster and at Cambridge, 
Rowan appears to have lived just like the 
other young men of the time ; with some- 
what more freak and adventure, perhaps, 
than is the fashion of our demurer day ; and, 
we dare say, with a proportionate advantage 
in health and happiness both of mind and 
body. Had we space ad libitum, and Ume 
and an attentive audience at the back of it, 
we could endite an interesting dissertation 
on the growing disuse of vivacious (and pug- 
nacious) amusements as an ingredient in 
education. We would not desire a better 
text than parts of the volume now before us. 
Of all forgotten inventions, or arts as old as 
the creation, there is surely none which men 
could not better afford to lose than the art of 
being alive, and yet none appears at present 
in such danger of being forgotten. Hamilton 
Rowan, however, seems never to hare been 
in danger that way. A pleasant notice of 
him, written by Mr, Topham, and published 
in the " World,*' a fashionable paper of the 
time, after dwelling with affectionate banter 
on his early character for enterprise and in- 
trepidity, concludes in the following terms : — 

*' But all this capability of usefulness and fair 
fame was brought to nought by the obstinate ab- 
surdity of the people about him. Nothing could 
wean them from Westminster. His grandfather 
Bowan, or Rohan, fellow of Trinity College, and 
afterwards King's Counsel in Ireland, resided in 
Rathbone-place, possessed of great wealth, teua^ 
cious of his opinions, and absolute nonsense was his 
conduct to his grandson. He persevered in the 
school; where, if a boy disaffects book knowledge, 
his books are only bought and — sold. And after 
Westminster, when the old man died, as if soli- 
citous that every thing about his grave, but poppy 
and mandragora, should grow downwards, his 
will declared his grandson the heir, but not to in- 
herit till he graduated at Cambridge. 

** To Cambridge therefore he went ; where hav- 
ing pursued his studies, as it is called, in a ratio 
inverse and descending, he might have gone on 
from bad to worse ; and so, as many do, putting a 
grave face on it, he might have had his degree. But 
his anhnal spirits and Igve of bustle could not go 



HAMILTON ROWAN. 



48 



offthuBundJstiiignlBhed; and so alter coolly at- 
tampting to throw a tutor into the Gam*— -alter 
Bhaldng all Cambridge from its propriety, by a 
night s frolic, in which he climbed the sign-posts, 
and changed the principal signs, he was rusticated, 
till the good humour of the university returning, 
he was re-admitted, and enabled to satisfy his 
grandfather's wiU I 

" Through the intercourse of private life he is 
▼ery amiable. The same suavity of speech, cour- 
teous attentions, and general good -nature he had 
when a boy, are continued and improved. Good 
quaUties the more to be prised,' as die less proba- 
ble from his bold and eager temper, from the tur- 
bolsnce of his wishes, and the hurry of his pur- 
suits." 

The reader is greatly mistaken, if he 
imagines from this, that our hero allowed 
himself lo he kept moping at Camhridge 
from one end of the year to the other. 'Tis 
true, what time he spent there, he diversi- 
fied hy occasional outbreaks of the kind 
above descrihed, and so made it pass more 
pleasantly. But all these, and douhtless 
they were much more numerous than there 
any record of, could not satisfy his thirst for 
adventure. He was not long matriculated 
when he took a trip to Holland, and some 
time after accepted a commission in the 
Huntingdon Muitia, which appears to have 
led him into not a little extravagance. There 
were, at the time he entered it, half a dozen 
lords among the officers of the regiment, 
and though we are told significantly enough, 
that *' when the American war hroke out, 
and the militia was put on permanent duty, 
the lords retired," they appear to have re- 
mained long enough to give Mr. Rowan 
such a taste for exceeding his income, that 
he was ohliged to borrow money on annuity 
at nx yeari piurchase. He also tells us, — 



* Br. I>rammond says it was a coachman, and 
not a tutor that he flung into the Cam, (if indeed 
it were not both, on different fitting occasions,) 
incurring thereby the penalty of rustication. " It 
was not improbably during its continuance," re- 
marks the worthy Doctor, "that he found a re- 
treat where his time might be profitably spent, 
under good Dr. Enfield, in Warrington Academy. 
This, however, is only offered as a conjecture." 
(A conjecture confirmed by Mr. Bowan himself, 
in a subsequent part of the memoir.) "But 
it is certain that he was at that celebrated 
academy, rather as a visitor than as a resident 
pupil, thoogh the precise time has not been ascer- 
tained. He has been heard to say that Letitia 
AikJn, afterwards Mrs. Barbauld, was his first 
love !" 

What think you of that, dear reader ? Hercules 
and Omphale were a laughing-stock to the an- 
cients ; but (our Irish) Hercules and Goody Two 
Shoes! — even in the heyday of her prettiness. 
'Tig too ridiculous. We are inclined to think 
A. H. B. was mystifying the Doctor or his hifor- 
naat. 



'* From the time I first mounted epaulettes, 
I paid but little attention to either college 
rules or exercises; and merely kept the 'ne- 
cessary terms." Indeed so little solicitous 
does he appear to have been on that head, 
that one summer he accepted the office of 
private secretary to his friend. Lord Charles 
Montague, (brother of the Duke of Man^ 
Chester,) then going out as Governor of 
South Carolina ; and here he witnessed one 
of those political skirmishes which in so many 
quarters of the colonial continent, gave notice 
of the approaching storm. 

" The bickerings between England and the Co- 
lonies were becoming serious when we left Eng- 
land. These were aggravated by many trifles 
soon after our arrival in Charleston. * * * A 
statue of Mr. Pitt had been erected opposite the 
Court House in Charleston, which was surrounded 
by an iron railing. The Assembly, among the 
items of expenditure, had voted £45 (?) for paint- 
ing the rails of it. Tliis vote was looked upon by 
Lord Charles as a direct insult to the Govern- 
ment ; and after endeavouring in vain to prevent 
that sum being included in the account of general 
expenditure, he dissolved the assembly. The 
manner of ^solving it was thus : — A peace offi- 
cer, preceded by a drummer, bore the proclama- 
tion of the Governor, which was read in the 
house, and the dissolution took place thereon. 
Each member now returned to his colony, and 
writs ^ were issued for a new election to take 
place. The people returned the same members 
that they had before elected. These persons be- 
ing now aware that if their conduct was not 
agreeable to Government, a second dissolution 
would take place, ordered the doors to be closed, 
and passed the same vote as before, refasing the 
others entrance. The drummer beat, 'and in vain 
the officer read the proclamation in the street; the 
members within passed all the bills, and then 
opened their doors and were dissolved according 
to law. The only resource the Governor now had 
was to refuse his sanction to them, so that the 
whole year's expenditure of the state was thus 
left unprovided for. 

'* Having spent nearly three months at Charles- 
ton, I got a passage to England, on board the 
Swallow, taking with me a racoon, an opossum, 
and a young bear. After a very rough passage, 
I landed at Portsmouth, my racoon dead, my 
bear washed overboard, and my opossum lost in 
the cable tier, and I returned to Cambridge." 

This last passage is pleasantly character- 
istic of that fondness for pets, which, amid 
all his trials and peregrinations, never forsook 
our hero to the latest moment of his life. 

There was one part of his grandfiither's 
will, which Mr. Rowan appears, most lau- 
dably, to have felt no compunction in break- 
ing, and that was the prohibition to visit Ire- 
land. The following sketch of an acquaintance 
which he made on his return from one of 
these excursions, introduces us to a remark- 
able specimen of the adventurers of those 
days— a class not witbottt Hbosx own peculiar 



44 



HAMILTON ROWAN. 



chivalry, and whom we should greatly 
wrong if we judged of them hy their dege- 
rate successors, in any rank of that in these 
days (hke the rest) over-wrought and over- 
crowded profession. 

*<Notwitl»taodiiig the injunctions in my grand- 
father's will, I made more than one trip across the 
Channel, to see Iveland, daring my minority. 
Paricgate was the usual port from wMch passen- 
gers sailed for Dublin. Those who chose to go 
by Holyhead hired horses at Chester, which cost a 
moidore each ; but they only set out when six or 
eight passengers assembled. 

** At the ferry of Conway an old woman had a 
cabin, where she lighted signals for the ferrymen 
to come oyer from the town. To get to the boat 
you were obliged to take guides along the shore, 
which they said abounded with dangerous quick- 
sands, changing with every tide. This was the 
first day's journey ; the next day you had to cross 
another ferry to reach Bangor, and then cross 
over Penmaen Mawr; or if the tide was out, you 
went along the coast. In one of those joumies I 
met MattMas O'Byrne, whom I esteemed, till his 
death, as one of my earliest and most sincere 
friends. He was of an old Catholic family, and 
had been sent to Germany in his youth, to acquire 
that education which was then refused to a Catho- 
lic at home. His father, who was a wine-mer- 
chant in Dublin, died during his absence, and all 
his pi^operty was divided (according to law in 
those days) among his family at his death. He 
had entered the Austrian service, and on his fa- 
ther's death he came over to Ireland to receive his 
share of the property ; but his elder brother was a 
bon vivant, and had dissipated almost the whole of 
the old man's money. 

"O'Byrne had now nothing to rely on but a 
sub-lieutenantcy in the German service, to which, 
when I met him, he was returning. We travelled 
together to London in a stage ; and having one 
evening gone to Yauxhall together, we found the 
Bev. Mr. Bate, editor of the Morning Pott, in a 
squabble with the Honourable Mr. Lyttleton and 
some of his party, whom he accused of having be- 
haved impertinently to his wife and her sister. 
Nothing could have been more likely, as they were 
both fine women, and Yauxhall was a place to 
which young men were accustomed to go to spend 
the latter part of the day in search of adventures. 
Mr. Bate had fixed on Mr. Lyttleton, and lifting 
his cane, threatened to strike him. This roused 
O'Byme's military feelings, which were increased 
by the physical disproportion of the antagonbts. 
Bate being a strong athletic figure, while the other 
presented that of an emaciated, but elegant de- 
banch^. O'Byrne rushed forward, and with an 
ejaculation, the tone of which denoted his birth- 
place, swore, if he struck the gentleman, he would 
run his sword through his body; but added, if 
nothing but boxiqg would satisfy him, he would 
take a round with him. Lyttleton was by no 
means ill-pleased to have found a substitute; 
Bate's ladies accepted of apologies, and O'Byrne 
was invited to sup with Mr. Lyttleton's party. In 
the course of the evening O'Byrne mentioned his 
. situation and place of destination. Mr. Lyttleton 
likewise was to set out for Vienna in a few days ; 
his party consisted of a lady and her maid, and the 
fourth place in the caniage was offered to 
O'Byrne, which he accepted. . 



(' While on the road, they were overtaken by an 
express which brought an account of Lord Lyttle- 
ton's death. Mr., now Lord Lyttletmi, offered to 
reconduct O'Byrne to London, and inrited him to 
reside in his house until he could procure him a 
commission in the British service, and promised 
to assist his promotion. For about one year he 
remained Lord Lyttleton's guest, and made several 
friends by his constant good humour and well- 
placed eccentricity ; but my lord seemed to have 
forgotten his promises, and O'Byrne felt himself 
in a state of dependence from which he determmed 
to relieve himself. Count Belgioso, the Austrian 
ambassador in London, had commanded the regi- 
ment in which O'Byrne had served ; he waited on 
him, candidly laid his state before him, and 
through his interest with Lord Bochfort, the 
Count procured him an ensigncy in the 13th regi- 
ment. In that capacity, with a light wallet, and 
a lighter purse, he marched with a recruiting party 
to Brighton, and quartered at Shergold's. 

" A Mr. Salvador, a rich Jew merchant, young, 
gay, fond of company and play, was confined to 
his room then by a fit of tiie .gouL He desired 
Shergold to invite the officer, who had come with 
the recruiting party, to dine with him. Salvador 
was pleased with his companion; they chatted, 
they drank, and they played, and in a short time 
O'Byrne returned to London in a chaise and four, 
with about £1000 in liis purse. With this nest- 
egg he obtained leave to recruit in London — ^was 
proposed at most of the fashionable dube, where 
he met numbers whose society he had cheered 
while he was a visitor at Lord Isyttleton's. He 
continued to play with the most constant success, 
nor did I ever hear a whisper agahist his integrity. 
He took a house in PalUMall, and was both in- 
vited by, and entertained persons of the highest 
rank. At one time his success was such, tluit he 
realised about £2000 per annum, and had a good 
sum at his bankers to call on. His prosperity did 
not change his character ; he was never known to 
be denied to those who had been his early compa- 
nions, particularly if they wanted his assistance. 
I must relate one transaction as a proof of bis 
friendly conduct towards a young man, one of his 
acquaintances. The daughter of a rich citisen, 
Mr. Jones, at Hammersmith, had become attached 
to this handsome young man. On his proposal of 
marriage, the father asked him his means of sup- 
port, to which he answered evasively ; and he re- 
counted this to O'Byrne in despair. * Well,' said 
O'Byrne, * you did not lose your presence of mind, 
I hope; come along with me." He took him to 
his bankers, and desired the whole sum he pos- 
sessed in their hands, to be laid out in the public 
funds in his friend's name. * Now, 'said O'Byrne, 
' take the old gentleman to the bank to-morrow, 
and that will satisfy him.' He did so, |uid ob- 
tained his consent to the marriage. Mr. Jones, 
however, died suddenly, previous to the day on 
which the ceremony was to take place ; the lady 
was under age, and her uncle (a lawyer) then be- 
came her guardian ; and as there was no time to 
be lost, O'Byrne gave him his chaise and the mo- 
ney to convey them to Gretna Green." 

This, our readers must acknowledge, is a 
graphic picture in little, and of a character 
too, at once so kindly and so chivalrous, so 
fertile in stratagems iTinduitrie, and so 
frank and generous in the use of them, that 



HAMILTON ROWAN. 



45 



with all its short-comings, we cannot alto- 
gether refuse it a place in our affection and 
esteem. 

For some years after his return from 
South Carolina, Mr. Rowan appears to have 
lived much like otlier young men of fortune. 
On reaching the age of twenty-five, and suc- 
ceeding to his grandfather's property, he sold 
a lai^ sum out of the funds, paid off his 
annuities, which now amounted to nearly a 
thousand a year, hired a house on Houns- 
low Heath and lodgings in London, kept 
hunters and a carnage, and scoured the 
country in search of amusement, taking also 
occasional trips to the continent, for change 
of air or scene, and sometimes perhaps as a 
shelter from some too importunate creditor. 
Mr. O 'Byrne was not the only one among 
his more adventurous countrymen, whose ac- 
quaintance he made in the course of these 
excursions. Of the once famous Count 
O'Rourke he relates some amusing anec- 
dotes, while after a long avoidance on his 
part, which speaks well tor his discretion, he 
became entangled in several adventures with 
the notorious George Robert Fitzgerald, and 
was at last obliged to become his second in 
a duel. All these doings are recounted in 
an easy gentlemanly style, and incline us to 
regret tluit our author has not been more 
communicative on the scenes of his bachelor 
days. A life of this kind, however, has its 
weariness, and it was with alacrity that Mr. 
Rowan accepted the offer of a commission in 
the Portuguese service. 

•< About this time (in 1777) I received a letter 
from my old fiiend. Lord Charles Montague, say- 
ing that the Portuguese minister, the Marquis of 
Fombal, being anxious to obtain English officers 
for the Portuguese army, had offered him the com- 
mand of a regiment, with the appointment of the 
officers, and that he would appoint me his Lieute- 
nant-Colonel if I was inclined to join them ; but 
in that case I must lose no time in returning to 
England, as a war was expected between Portu- 
gal and Spain, and the regiment would most pro- 
bably be sent inmiediately to South America. 
Tlus destination was most agreeable to my wan- 
dering tarn of mind, so that in the course of a 
very short time, Lord Charles, Mr. Blankett, a 
naval officer, and I embarked in the Lisbon packet, 
and arrived safe in the Tagus, in high spirits. 
On entering the river we were informed tliat the . 
Ute king had died, a complete revolution had ta- 
ken place in the politics of Portugal, and the Mar- 
quis of Pombal was sent into banishment. * * 
Contrary to the advice of his friends. Lord 
Charles determined on visiting the Marquis at his 
place of banishment, Pombal, a small village near 
Coimbra, and for that place we hired mules and 
guides at Lisbon. 

'* When we arrived at Pombal, we found the 
BCarquis had arrived only a few days before, and 
was lodged in a private house, having no resi- 
dence there. Lord Charles immediately waited 



on him, and received an invitation for us all to 
dine him with the next day. On entering his room, 
he made a sort of playful apology for his fare and 
reception. He wore an old English bath coat and 
slippers. He reminded me much of Br. Franklin, 
both in his good-natured remarks and his suavity 
of manners. Our company consisted of himself, 
his priyate secretary, and two private friends. 
When we were collected at table, and about to 
sit down, a female of middle age, plainly dressed, 
came into the room, and without noticing any of 
us, she advanced to the Marquis, dropped on her 
knees, received a short blessing, and was intro- 
duced to the guests as his daughter. Dinner, 
with eyerything else, was in the French fashion. 
Lord Charles and Mr. Blankett had some private 
conference with the Marquis, and shortly after we 
took our leave. The next morning we departed 
for Lisbon. 

" Our party now separated : Lord Charles went 
to Madrid ; Mr. Blankett returned to England ; 
and I accepted the invitation of the officers of the 
ward-room on board a frigate, commanded by 
Captain Murray, and going to Gibraltar, and from 
thence to Minorca. * * * After spending a 
few days at Port Mahon, I hired a small boat to 
take me to Marseilles. In this passage I expe- 
perienced rougher weather and worse seas than in 
all my former voyages ; indeed I believe I never 
had been in such danger before, for the vessel 
which brought me came there to be broken 
up. I was now diverted from some other in- 
tended excursions, by the arrival of an officer who 
had travelled from the East Indies, by what they 
call the overland passage by the Bed Sea to Sues, 
and was in great haste to reach London. He pre- 
vailed on me to join him in the purchase of a ber- 
line, and accompany him as far as Paris. In ar- 
ranging our effects in the carriage at Marseilles, 
I perceived that my companion put several large 
bundles of pi4>ers in the trunk which was to go in 
trout of the carriage. I advised him to put them 
in the vaehe ; but he would not ; so I let him have 
his own way, which I suspect was not without 
design ; for it appeared he had been recalled to 
make up the accounts for some post he held under 
the East India Company, and by the time he got 
to the India House, all the vouchers, fcc, had been 
so much torn and rubbed in the trunk, as to be 
perfectly illegible. 

** I passed nearly a year in Paris. Being al- 
ways fond of boating, I had brought to Paris a 
small Thames wherry, which I bought from Ro» 
bertSyOf Lambeth, from whom the Westminster boys 
hired their boats. I fancied I possessed superior 
dexterity in its management, and this led me to 
accompany the cortege that attended the Queen 
to the palace of Fontainebleau. My boat was in- 
deed taken notice of, for I saw the Queen speak- 
ing tO' the Buke of Lauzun, and pointing it out ; 
but, alas ! when I asked him- whii she had said, 
he told me the only remark she made was— >" Que 
tela peui Hre amusement pour tm Sngneur 
Anglau ! 

War being declared on tbe Continent, Mr. 
Rowan returned to England, and joined hia 
regiment, at South Sea Common, where it 
was encamped. Seeing no prospect of active 
service in this capacity, he got his friend the 
Duke of Manchester, colonel of his regi- 
ment, to request of Admiral Keppel to re- 



48 



HAMILTON ROWAN* 



Struggled for^ and knowledge hardly won, 
and virtue which knew not itself, yet was 
its own reward. As men learn better why 
they are bound to revere past ages, and 
what they really owe to them, they will 
surely learn also a truer respect for them- 
selves; a meek and just, and temperate pride, 
taking the place of a weak, fretful, ignorant, 
pitiable vanity. 

Pending such a hopeful consummation, 
we would take the unassenting reader back 
to the earliest records, and ask him what he 
finds there, or how, twixt man and man, the 
way of the world hath altered ? The strong 
and hairy Esau finds the sleek and smooth- 
skinned Jacob somewhat an overmatch for 
him ; the meek Joseph changes a prison 
for a jidlfkCBy and is, for many years, the 
virtual lord of Bgypt. The good-natured 
hulking Ajax, the hot-headed Agamemnou, 
the god-like Achilles himself, thresh and 
are threshed upon occasion, but it is after 
all, the much experienced Nestor, the 
n>rightly Diomede, the inventive Ulysses, 
that advance the Grecian cause, so that men's 
eyes, in doubt and danger, turn to where tliey 
stand : the self-reliant Hector obeys with- 
out a murmur the word of the wiser Helenus, 
and if once or twice Polydamas puts him 
out of temper, 'tis the sense of his own 
inferiority, that makes him unjust and pas- 
sionate. So hath it been ever, so will it 
ever be ; soul and body, mind and muscle, 
now in imion, again in disunion, cheering 
and aiding, or jostling and stifling one 
another, as the whim takes them, or the fates 
decree. Mind, pluck, spunk, soul, spirit, 
will do much for one ; Tydeus was a little 
man, and so was Napoleon : even dwarf 
and hunch-back heroes may often be met 
with in history. On the other hand, an 
active, inventive spirit taking up its abode 
in a tough, healthy, capacious body, is won- 
derfully aided thereby. Look at Walter 
Scott, Cobbett, O'Connell ; what work they 
have done, to say nothing of all the super- 
fluous trouble, which for wilfulness or pas- 
time th^ chose to burden themselves withal. 
And agam, look at Cewper, Coleridge, Lamb, 
men of far finer endowment, how in tasks 
beneath their powers, or oft-times no task at 
all, they fretted and frittered away their 
existence, their weak spirits in weak bodies 
finding life too rough a game. So with 
Jew and Greek, ancient and modem, wild 
and tame, Malay and Yankee, hath it fared, 
and will ; nor much as the world has changed, 
is this among its changes. 

Yet a change in respect of mind and 
muscle, there undoubtedly is, and we take 



it to be in this wise: not that either has 
sained over the other advantage which be- 
fore it had not, but rather that both are 
debarred of much occupation, which in 
earlier times they had not failed to enjoy 
and profit by. And 'tis hard to say which 
class of society, the high or the low, the 
rich or the poor, more acutely feel this : 
enough that they all suffer by it. 

And thus, to draw straight this tangled 
thread with which we have so long detained 
our readers, we must think it a pity, for 
many reasons, that our stalwait, good- 
natured Hamilton Rowan was not bom a 
couple of centuries earlier. The business 
of "owning land," to which he was pre- 
appointed, was then accompanied, if not 
with more numerous duties, at least with 
more active occupations to beguile the 
tedium of life— or in other words, duties 
which could not be neglected with impunity ; 
which it was dangerous as well as tmcom- 
fortable to leave unperformed, and moreover, 
which it was pleasurable enough to be con- 
stantly fulfilling. We have in the foregoing 
pages, given some account of Hamilton 
Rowan's q^ly life, and have seen that with 
the heartiest endeavours on his part, it was 
yet so far the life of an idler, pleasant, but 
of little profit to himself or auy one else, 
save that in his peregrinations he acquired, 
no doubt, some knowledge of the world, 
and considerable grace of manner. Now 
so long as landlordism shall continue to 
flourish, so long as young men are allowed 
to be heirs to large properties, with the weal 
and woe of hundreds or thousands so greatly 
depending on them, we must think it a 
question of some importance ; — whether the 
occupations and exercises of their early years 
might not be made more directly subservient 
to their after usefulness as lords of the soil ? 
And it is exactly in the case of a man like 
Hamilton Rowan, a noble, compassionate, 
warm-hearted human being, and not an aris- 
tocratic icicle, that the question may be 
most pertinently put He was, as we shall 
afterwards see^ an excellent landlord, so 
fsur as his insight and information allowed 
him ; 'twas impossible he could have been 
otherwise. But regularly taught his duties, 
and trained to practise them, what might he 
not have been ? His high spirit and un- 
bending rectitude resting on a basis of con- 
tinued public usefulness, his activity and 
benevolence would have been more seldom 
wasted on inadequate or unworthy objects ; 
and while his ability to serve his country, 
and enlarge her liberties, would have been 
ten-fold greater, he would, if sacrificed at 



STANZAS. 



49 



all, have been so with the satisfaction of 
purchasing with his exile or his deaths some 
more enduring benefit for the land he loved. 
In these times, and let the landlords look to 
it, if they mean to remain such — to be widely 
and permanently useful in that high station, 
must come not by good will alone, or well- 
meaning philantrophy, but by long previous 
training, artificial and new-fangled if they 
will, but every day becoming more indis- 
pensable fur their very existence ; an educa- 
tion, we mean, comprehensivelv and steadily 
directed to the one great end of making them 
know their duties, and acquire the habit of 
practising tbem. 

All this, though imperfectly, would have 
come about more easily three centuries ago. 
Had Haoiilton Rowan lived then, his noble 
faculties would have found fitter employ- 
ment, and made him a man of note, in a 
fashion pleasanter for himself, and just as 
good for the world. As a chieftain on the 
Scottish borders, or on the banks of the 
Rhine, or the Blackwater, or in his own 
castle of Killyleagh, had the 0*Neils been 
dispossessed so early, what glorious occu- 
pation might he not have found for himself? 
How many a foray would he not have 



headed, and made his followers glad with 
the flesh of plundered beeves ; or bid them 
dwell in peace and prosperity for miles 
around his sheltering stronghold, fearing no 
insidious foe ? How would the qualities 
which made him popular with our fathers, 
have made him powerful then, and honoured 
of a numerous clan. Those thirty idle years 
would have been the reverse of idle, and his 
whole life, though not so peaceful, ha{)pier 
far perhaps, and certainly not less useful. 

^ut this is now almost an idle specula- 
tion : to each man is his time allotted, and 
be his portion good or evil, he and his 
fellows must make the best of it. Our 
Hamilton Rowan was bom in the eighteenth 
century and not in the fifteenth ; what he was, 
rather than what he might have been, it 
becomes us to consider and enquire: and 
as we have now presented to our readers, a 
brief sketch of his early life, so we purpose 
in a succeeding paper to follow his course, 
though the penis of imprisonment and exile, 
till we see him once more restored to our 
land,— one of the few amons many thousands 
who have left it, because they loved it; yet 
dared return to die in it. 



«W^»»^^<^^<^^»^^«MM>»«»<MM«^^<M^^N^«^<»»i^^^^^*«»^^^^^^IW»»^<M»^^^M^«<»«WM^ 



€« 



STANZAS. 

NO, I CikNKOT SING TO NIGHT. 



ft 



Ask me not— for why should sorrow 

Jar upon your ears to-night ? 
Why should Mirth a shadow borrowi 

Casting gloom where all is light ? 
When I touch the note of gladness. 

Hoping 'twill respond aright ; 
It but stnkes the chord of sadness. — 

No, I cannot sing to night. 

Time's past scroll before me 's lying ; 

Memory's finger traces there, 
Nights on joyous pinions flying. 

Scenes like this, and forms as dear. 
Unbidden, then, the thought comes o'er me— 

What remains of hours so bright ?— 
The mere remembrance flung before me ! 

No, I cannot sing to-night ! 

On each passing breath seem flitting 

Voices, silent in the tomb : 
Long lost firiends seem by me sitting 

As when in their pride of bloom* 
There's a gloQmy spell hath bound me ; 

Even now, a hand doth write, 
" So 'twill be with those around thee" — 

No, I cannot sing to-night 



50 



0TOH1BS or THE PYnENEES, 



STORIES OF THE PYRENEES. No. IV. 

THE PRISONERS ON PAROLE. 
PART IV.* 



" We were soon obliged to abate this rate 
of speed ; the \Tay — I had not been^ as I told 
you, in a state to mind that, or scarcely 
any other circumstance of our march of 
yesternight, — grew every moment more diffi- 
cult and uncertain ; at one time our horses 
found footing on a bed of irregular stone 
and gravel ; at another, with much effort, 
in a deep slippery pool of mire. The in- 
cessant rain of (he preceding weeks had, 
in the mountain gorges we were passing 
through, here, at the upper part of a 
declivity, over which its accumulated tor- 
rents had swept, — laid bare the rocky 
underground, and there^ further on in the 
descent, driven down detached masses of 
earth and sand, quickly fonned below into 
the slimy consistence of a morass. Once or 
twice, as we advanced, while gazing, with 
the quickened view that imminence of ])er- 
sonal peril gives, up the pine heights that 
crowned, right and left, the sides of these 
passes, (exactly, as parts of the valley we 
rode through this evening, are topped,) I 
fancied, indistinctly, and without attaching 
much importance to the matter, I could 
descry a sort of movement there, that to 
my hoping, — one catches, you know, at a 
straw in dilemmas like ours, — struck me as 
being like that of men and arms. No one 
seemed to observe this incident, whether 
real or not, but myself; and, supposing the 
former case, what could it avail to me or 
my unfortunate companion ? It might be a 
mancBuvre of the republicans, not of our 
friends; it might be a fond deception of 
my excited brain ; it might be, — but what 
use repeating the surmises, that at the mo - 
inent when first I caught, or imagined I 
caught a glimpse of what seemed, — thcU 
teeming started me at once into a kind of 
instinctive hope. I have already ^d, that 
then, in my days of primy youth, I was 
well prone to be a hoper in the worst of 
haps ; by and by we shaU be able to guess 
whether, in the present instance, I was 
right or wrong in still, on the turn of a fan- 



cied straw, indulging in the folly of hoiie, 
the most outright one, 'twould appear to 
common sense, that could be yielded to in 
our actual posiUon. 

" An hour or two, it might be, passed ; 
we had progressed during the time but 
a small distance from our starting place; 
and, according as we continued to toil 
on, the road still presented new difficulties, 
now winding through a precipitous glen, 
darkened by overhanging masses of wood, 
and traversed at bottom by a turbid stream, 
that, rushmg, full swoln by many channels, 
from the heights foaming, bubbling, and 
splashing, wai^hed the edge of the path; 
it would have been impossible in many 
spots to get forward two abreast. 

*' On approaching the issue of the pass, 
widening towards the more open and level 
country, sounds well known to my ears, in- 
distinct at first, but soon remarked and 
listened to more attentively by every one 
of the detachment, particularly its prompt 
commander, were l^eard announcing more 
clearly at each step, that a sharp con- 
test had again begun in the plain below, 
the theatre of the one we yesterday had 
been present in, and become victims of. 
Compact heavy vollies of musketry, answer- 
ing one another at intervals, were inter- 
mingled with occasional irregular more 
prolonged discharges. We could quickly 
hear, or imagine we heard shouts, cries, and 
clashings, — the rulling of drums, or a trum« 
pet call. To do more, to see what the case 
might be, was, as yet, impossible ; plunged 
as we were, in the vaUey's depths, which 
still encompassed us, and only abruptly 
tenninatcd at the entrance, and disclosed in 
sudden wide-stretched view, the low expanse 
of plain I have Bad occasion so often to 
mention. 

" Instantly ordering to halt, the lieutenant 
dashed forward with a few troopers, for the 
purpose, we concluded, of course, of recon- 
noitering, — ^not forgetting, first, to make us 
take place in the midst of the remaining 



* For the praoeding parts see vol ii. pp. 234, 363, 435. 



TI1£ PRI80NBRS ON PABOLE. 



51 



number, and whisper a short, but evidently 
decisive command to the subaltern officer 
left in charge of us. . 

'' His absence may have been of twenty 
minutes to half an hour ; he returned with 
his men, at the fullest speed practicable, in 
the unequal broken np ground I have de- 
scribed ; and before reaching within speak- 
ing distance, he motioned with his hand, to 
face round and fall back. The signal was 
understood, and, ere he joined us, we were 
already some hundred paces away, in retro- 
gade movement. 

'* What meant all this ? I scarcely dared 
to let myself think it portended good, 
though having, as I shall tell you soon, 
reason to think it did ; yet, one thing was 
necessarily clear, — ^he woidd not have di- 
rected a retreat had he found it was safe to go 
forward. Our friends held, perhaps, his fel- 
lows in check ; perhaps they had obtained 
some marked advantage ; at the least, put- 
ting all other considerations and springs to 
favourable expectation out of the question ; 
inasmuch as tee were concerned, it seemed 
better to be where we were, than where we 
had ere now, but for the interruption been, 
in the enemy s camp, under brief sentence, 
and equally brief delay of execution ; worse 
than this could scarcely be. 

" Such were the hurried reflections that 
suggested themselves to me, while eagerly 
watching the looks, countenance, and man- 
ner of the young leader, when, passing in 
front, he checked his horse, and conversed 
for a few minutes in low voice and short 
phrase, with his inferior officer. He was 
evidently earnest and thoughtful, manifest- 
ing, however, neither discomposure nor pre- 
cipitateness. Now and anon he turned his 
searching eyes towards us, with what ex- 
pression or interest, 'twere completely im- 
):K>ssibie to divine at the time ; that it was 
full of meaning there could be no doubt, 
and more probably, than at many other of 
our moments of trial ; hitherto I felt hea- 
vily anxious and ill at ease to be out of the 
torment of endeavouring to guess. 

" He said no word to us, nor we to him ; 
all continued the same gloomy silence that 
had, till now only, been interrupted by the 
noise of our horses' steps, the passing clank 
of the soldiers* arms, the rustling wave of 
the high trees, or the few orders that had 
passed from him to his men. 

" By the time we had nearly cleared, as 
far as I could judge, (and you may be 
sure I recollected tolerably now, each turn 
and angle, and nook,) the glen ; at its up- 
per extremity, wo ceased abnost wholly to 



hear the reports so welcome to our spirits ; 
perhaps we were at too great a distance, or 
that it really was the combat had termina- 
ted. How heartily did we pray inwardly 
that the upshot might be in favour of "our 



own. 



" The circumstance did not escape the ad- 
jutant; he halted the troop from time to 
time, and appeared to listen, dismounting 
at last, and laying his ear to the groiuid ; 
the result did not seem quite satisfactory. 
I perceived, or fancied rather, I could per- 
ceive (for he remained calm and inscrutable 
as before) that a slight, but significant ges- 
tu]:e passed from him to his companion in 
duty, as they again held whispering com- 
munication together. At this precise mo- 
ment, while, to my mind, they looked as it 
were undecided what course to pursue — the 
unexpected but well defined repetition of the 
same noise of firing that had already come 
to cheer .the heart of my brotlier sufferer 
and myself, (but this time, much nearer, 
and in another and different direction, that 
of the town we had inai'ched from in the 
morning,) resounded suddenly with loud and 
frequent crash. This time it startled, yes, 
unquestionably startled from his composure 
our young soldier, as well as it did the 
other, and every man of the troop, not ex- 
cluding, you may think, ourselves, to whom 
it ani;w gave a vivid spur of joyful im- 
pulse. I recollected the vague stirring 1 had 
imagined I caught a glimpse of, ou devolv- 
ing from the freer countiy above into the 
entrance of the gorge. With a thrill of 
delight, I now bounded to the not impro- 
bable conclusion, that a bold and dexterous 
manoeuvre of our body of troops, reinforced, 
no doubt, from the main one, had been es- 
sayed, to turn and seize the enemy's po- 
sition, — a manceuvre of the utmost honour 
and credit to the officer who had conceived, 
and the troops, who, under his direction, 
had executed it ; and which I remembered 
to have been proposed and discussed in 
the general council of war. 

" If it succeeded, we yet might bo safe, — 
escape for our escort seemed dubious, if 
not impossible, — a matter respecting which 
I had not means of forming a decided 
opinion, since, at either extremity of the 
ravine, they must necessarily encounter our 
friends, and fall, probably, into their hands. 
These, with various other conflicting and 
uncertain ones, were the thoughts, that, in 
an instant of time, crowded my brain at 
this momentously critical juncture. 

*' The hesitation I had observed, lasted 
merely during tlie while I remarked it; 

D 2 



52 



STORIES OF THE PTBBNEES. 



our but too attentive guardian cauj;bt, I 
believe^ my glance interrogating bis fea- 
tures ; be turned hu abruptly for a second 
away, and tben, resuming aU tbe self-pos- 
session tbat bad bitberto tbroughout, from 
our first meeting, most strikingly cbarac- 
terized bira^ — ^backed sideways tbe fine ani- 
mal be rode, so as to take ground in ad- 
vance before bis men, — ^then, drawing his 
sword, and placing it at rest to bis shoul- 
der, — " Comet, forward," be cried, •* witb 
four of tbe troop !" 

" Place the prisoners in rear, thirty 
paces, — ^two men each side, — serry ranks 
there, — ^load, — ^rest carbines !'* 

' ' All this was done in a twinkling ; we were 
brought to tbe named distance ; the dragoons 
who executed this part of tbe order, when 
thev had done so, ranging themselves right 
and left at a short interval, with their horses' 
beads, and carbines on knee, inclining to- 
wards us, and ready to draw triggers at the 
slightest motion of ours ; the others closed 
files and stood prepared in tbe same way. 
These several movements not a little appalled 
and chilled us, the more so, no doubt, in 
presence of the brightened hopes so recently 
indulged in. Tbe next orders we could only 
expect would be to wheel and fire ; for we 
knew well enough, from wretched experience, 
the practice followed in such cases by our 
foes, and, I even grieve to be compelled to 
repeat it, by ourselves. 

**Good bye, Juvigny," I said in under 
tone, '* all's over — God be merciful to us." 
" Good bye— bless you, de Merinhac ! — 
yes, our doom is here— we shall meet else- 
where.** 

" We placed our bauds together and waited, 
endeavouring to utter inwardly a prayer for 
mercy, which often, alas ! in similar occa- 
sions one can with difficulty succeed in 
forming. 

'' What a miserable interval of suspense 
ensued I — ^no word of command was given ; 
we remained mbtiouless, and I shall not say, 
quailing ; but struck with the dread cold awe 
the bravest must and do feel in the same po- 
sition, fluttering as it were, between life and 
death, — for tbe space of ten minutes which 
here (the phrase however trite after aU best 
expresses the impression) seemed indeed ten 
ages. 

" At length, by degrees, our feelings and 
ideas began to take another tiun and slowly 
to revive again and breathe — let me so speak 
—even into tbe world. We perceived that 
the leader bad resumed his former place at the 
head of bis party, having detachea tbe comet 



with the other dragoons called, as I men- 
tioned, to the front, on a second recon- 
noitering excursion, instead of going forward 
himself. 

" The firing meantime had manifestly in- 
creased, and every moment, it was equally 
certain, took place over a more extended 
line. We soon, towards the topmost heights 
ihat commanded the mouth of the ravine, 
could sufficiently plainly descry smoke 
rising, at first thinly, then m close volumes ; 
even two or three large flashes were seen, 
followed by the report of as many field 
pieces. '* Oh," thought I, "if these be 
our*s, the day may be gained ; the repub- 
licans can not have brought up theirs from 
the marshes.'* 

" Tbat they were oure I quickly bad joy- 
fully convincmg proof; high above, imme- 
diately over the spot whence the shots had 
been directed, I recognised, with a thrill 
which all can easily appreciate, floating in a 
partial glance of sunshine, the flag— our 
own true white flag. I cannot say I jumped 
in my saddle at tbe sight, but Juvigny cer- 
tainly did ; a half muttered exclamation only 
escaped my lips, and he responded to it : 
incidents not unnoticed by the scowling eyes 
that immediately fell on us from around. 
The lieutenant turned ; be bad heard the 
stir, but merely looked coldly, if not some- 
what contemptuously towards us, and re- 
sumed bis posture of mute watchfulness 
of what might be passing forward. He 
only occasionaUy made a single movement 
to look back, as here, on bis men or, as 
time drew on, and his scouting party did not 
reappear, to consult more rarely, and witb 
evident precaution, a watch which he took 
firom bis breast. I noted all this, quite as 
closely at least, as he did the sounds and 
tokens tbat were to direct to him the pro- 
gress of the engaged struggle. 

" At length we could discern, emerging 
now and again from the more obscure 
and shaded points into the opening of tbe 
way, the hurriedly returning troops and their 
officer. Ours — I must fur the present term 
him so, rode forward to meet them. They 
soon after joined in silence the rest, and re- 
formed into order as before. 

''The young aide-de-camp, witli still 
graver and more clouded brow, now passed on 
to the rear, inspecting the looks and state of 
all as he went, and stopping immediately be 
side us, next to me, motioned the guards to 
fall into rank with the others. After a pause, 
during which they bad advanced as instruct- 
ed, be turned full to me, and in a tone of 



TBB PBIB0NEB8 ON PABOUE. 



53 



serious earnestness and enquiriog interest, 
corresponding to that of his habitual man- 
ner, but much more strongly marked. 

*' Captain Meriiihac/' he said, for the 
firat time thus styling me ; ''you are, I feel 
perfectly satisfied, too much of an experienced 
soldier — ^not to say too well acquainted with 
the plans and desi^s of your party — ^not to 
be fully aware of Uie import and intent^ and 
presumable consequence of the double oo 
eurrence (laying stress on the word to con- 
vey meaning stronger than it really implied) 
which has lust taken place P" 

'' Here he was silent as if waiting for a 
reply, although no direct question had been 
put." 

" Citizen Lieutenant,'* I answered, " I do 
judge of — I do understand the importance of 
the two ' oecurrencet,' as you are pleased to 
call them, which you allude to ; as to the pro- 
jects or intentions of my party, they belong to 
them and not to me. Your friends position is 
turned and occupied on two points ; and you 
are shut up here with little, if any opening 
of retreat or escape. Am I right P — Do my 
judgment and your s agree ?" 

" Citizen Merinhac/' he rejoined with 
some severity ; not for several seconds, how- 
ever; "you forget you are my prisoner ; I 
am not here to answer questions, but to have 
mine answered, and even were it not so, you 
could scarcely expect that, having withheld 
confidence yourself, I, on my part, should 
grant it you. But enough ; — no more use- 
less woros on the matter— -another and more 
serious one we should have now to occupy 
us. Supposing the case to be what' you 
describe it, (and I am not prepared to allow 
fully that it is — nay, on the contrary I feel 
imhesitatingly convinced, that we can still 
without mucn efibrt make good our retreat) 
do you know ?" — he paused — " are you 
fully aware— what are my instructions — ^my 
unavoidable duty to perform" — ^he again 
hesitated, ''under such circumstances, or 
those of an attempt at rescue or escape T* 

" To dispose summarily of us, I should 
imagine — we expected; we could hope no 
less ?" 

" You have said it — nay more/' he added, 
with an expression of feeling almost betray- 
ing itself by a sigh, which as yet he had 
never given way to within my observation, 
and which one would not have probably, 
concluding from the outward man, considered 
him capable of " to blow — ^myself — ^with my 
own hands, your brains out, on thb spot." 

" Previous scenes and events had bat too 
well prepared us for this ; we were nerved at 
the moment up to the highest pitch of suf- 



fering excitement ; seizing again J uvigny*s 
hand, who returned the pressure, and looked, 
as I did, fixedly in the lace of our presumed 
executioner :-^ 

"Well, sir," I cried, "fulfil them; your 
orders ; we are unarmed !" 

"The taunt might be spared. Captain 
Merinhac ; you should perhaps, indeed you 
ought to think better of me nrom what has 
already passed ; but I shall be dumb, and 
excuse, in consideration of your position, 
this injustice in my regard, i es," he con- 
tinued after an interval apparently of deep 
and struggling reflection; one of nearly 
equal surprise and suspense to us ; (he escort 
drawn up, as a while since, fronting us, re* 
mained within shot ; waiting, it might be, 
only the word to fire, if he relinquished the 
sanguinary fimctions imposed on him." 
" Yes, you wrong me ;, but you fhaU judge 
of me and know me better ; my mind is 
made up — I sicken at the horrors of this 
war — they suit only savages, and are a dis- 
grace to the bright and great cause we com- 
bat for. I, for one, in my humble individual 
capacity, will set an example that may tend 
to alleviate them. Gentlemen, citizens-* 
ofiScers I mean — you are free — I set you at 
liberty from this moment, on my own re- 
sponsibility — with this single condition, that 
you pledge yourselves m ofiicers and gentle- 
men, at some future period of the campaign*- 
I do not — ^raind it— name a time, to sur- 
render at our outposts ; thence to be sent 
forward penoncdly, to me." 

" If we were astonished before, fancy, if you 
can, what must have been our feelings at the 
close of these words. I shall not attempt 
to describe them ; gratitude, admiration, 
amaze, if you will, and a thousand other 
impulses were jostled and jumbled together 
in our breasts ; and in the confusion, for a 
few minutes left us wholly speechless. 

" To do both my companion and myself but 
fair justice, however, (and I am proud to 
have it to say, in the lace and spite of the 
universal selfishness of poor human nature,) 
our first thought and words, when we could 
find or utter them, were for our brave and 
generous foe. 

" But Sir, dear Sir, do you recollect the 
risk — a matter of life and death, you expose 
yourself to P*' we both exclaimed in a breath, 

•' are you " 

" I have said I was resolved,'* he inter- 
rupted, in a graver and more solemn tone ; 
" What I do, I do wittingly, and no thought 
of the peril incurred shall have power to 
prevent me acting up to what I mean. This 
carnage— this butchery work, loathes me ; 



54 



STORIES OF THE PYRENSBB. 



my hand shall have no farther stain on it 
Let them visit the fault on me if they will 
or dare, for I am not the only one of the 
army to feel and think thus. I shall he too 
happy, even in this one instance, to have ar- 
rested the course of atrocities that sully the 
hanner we have devoted our lives and hopes 
to — do you accept ?" 

" The question were useless, my worthy 
enemy, and hest present friend— of course 
we do — ^we were madmen else j we stake our 
word and honour ** 

" Enough ! — to the right ahout wheel," 
he commanded in a penetrating voice. The 
troop oheyed. " Onward — ^rejoin corps." 
They moved in the prescribed direction, we 
making way as they passed. 

*' Yon will advance, I presume, to meet 
•your nearest friends, whom I see in occupa- 
tion of the hills yonder. They must not 
have time to send to catch me here," he ad- 
ded, with a sort of smile, "so farewell," 
bowing, and turning his horse's head to de- 
part. 

" But, Sir !— but. Citizen Officer !— shall 
we not know whom we stand indebted to P 
Our benefactor and deliverer will not re- 
. fuse " 

"It matters little," he afresh interrupted, 
"my name is of small consequence; neverthe- 
less, if you wish — ^if it be positively a grati- 
fication to you to hear it — they call me in the 
army, Charles Jeanotte." 

" Here I must confess my folly — one, I, in 
common with my party, was guilty of, and 
had reason to repent — that of figuring to our- 
selves, that nothing good or great could be^ 
that was not of w*. Well, let it be. Forget- 
ting this, in the momentary impulse, which 
the young fellow's high-mindedness and ge- 
nerosity of proceeding, dignity of language, 
and bearing, had stirred up — nay more, re- 
gardless of every peculiarity of our respective 
situations, the times, the circumstances, and 
the men — I was involuntarily, the same 
mania prompting, driven to think he must 
be something more, that he could not be 
only ' one Charles Jeannotte ;* so, yield- 
ing to the instinctive movement, I added in 
an enquiriug voice, " Charles Jeannotte 

"A smile, perhaps of some slight contempt, 
soon changing into one of periect good hu- 
mour, the first of the kind I had remarked, 
straying over his handsome features, which 
it particularly well became, followed the im- 
plied question. 

"No, Citizen Chevalier— no 'de^—l 
am not, nor have ever been, nor ever intend 
to be, entitled to the particle. I am pliun 
plebeian ' Charles Jeannotte \* better known ' our sight.** 



among my comrades of the ranks, whence 
I have risen, by the familiar abbreviation 
' Jeannot.* " 

" Morbleu ! — so much the worse," I 
could not help breaking out with, " if you 
are not noble you deserve to be so ;** (re- 
collecting the many defaulters from our 
cause then enjoying the temporary — ^for with 
few exceptions they were only fatally so — 
fruits of their apostacy ; there are many, I 
inwardly and bitterly thought, bearing the 
highest names, whom thy example might put 
to the blush ;) " and one day I hope and 

pray " 

" He smiled again ; then in a serious, nay, 
somewhat stem tone — ^'A truce to this 
trifling if you please. Citizen ; I have said 
already I desire no name or title, save that 
of the rank which I may gain by my sword, 
fighting in the cause of my free country 
against you and yours, and all those who 
are striving to make her what she before was 
— their slave and their prey ; and now again 
— let us part." 

" Not as enemies ; curse it, why should 
we be enemies ?" 

" We can never be else. Citizen, while 
you hold to your mistaken principles in the 
degree you esteem 1 do to mine." 

" I regret it, from my soul I regret it; but 
we may meet again in happier times." 

" I accept, most willingly, the augury ; 
meanwhile you delay me.' 

" I was much ofifected — I seized his hand ; 
" Monsieur Jeannotte, it is a pity you do 
not belong to the King P" 

" Citizen Merinhac, I return the compli- 
ment, for such you mean it to be ; 'tis a pity 
you do not belong to your coimtry. I ac- 
knowledge nor kmg, nor chief— but her; 
good bye." 

" I could no longer contain my emotion ; 
I again grasped his hand — Juvigny took the 
other, while starting tears ran down his 
cheeks, and he drew short breath ; a drop 
or two stood in our generous foo*s hitherto 
calm clear eye. 

«' Farewell, Sir, farewell, our noble deli- 
verer; if you think the good-will of an 
enemy worth having — curse it more and 
more ! — ^why should we not be friends ? 
By all that's honourable and g^od, as you 
yourself are, you have mine — oure — to the 
heart's core ; always save and excepting the 
service of his Majesty, whom God prosper." 
" God prospers not the doers or wishers 
of slavery. Captain Merinhac — adieu !" 

" So saying, he touched the sides of his 
steed, which bounded with gallant sure loot 
down the glen, disappearing quickly from 



THE PRISONERS ON PAIIOLE. 



55 



PART V. 



From tlie extent these pages Lave nin to, 
the reader will; perhaps, have already un- 
derstood the stor}' was not told in one sitting. 
However inclined to dwell on the always 
more or less, in the advanced age, endear- 
ing reminiscences of old times, the good 
▼eteran^ — I perceived not long after mid- 
night of the evening I have spoken of — ^had 
become somewhat tired. Eager as I was to 
hear him out, I thought it but fair to hmt 
that " it was late," that he might be in want 
of rest* &c. " I see, I see, my young drowsy- 
ear," he exclaimed in reply, •* you find I 
begin to drawl, and the leaden-mnk is 
coming on you." I immediately protested 
against the imputation — *' not a word," he 
interrupted, " not a word — you are right — 1 
feel I do drag, and get heavy, tonsequently 
I must tire ; so to your hammock, and I to 
mine — good night. Tomorrow, (you dine 
with me, recollect, same hour,) we shall have 
another tug and make an end." 
> I hastened home, not to bed — ^but to sit 
up some hours longer, noting down the 
heads of my excellent old friend's recital ; 
and as far as practicable, the style, the 
manner and very words he made it in. I 
fear much, (as I have already expressed 
elsewhere) I have but indiiferenUy succeeded 
in this regard ; thero was a natural ease and 
truth, and simplicity in his conversational 
tone of narration,— that it would be, I should 
fancy, very nearly impossible to transfer to 
paper. 

We meet with many persons in society, 
the remark has been often made, gifted with 
powers of thought and language, of a pecu- 
liarly refined — or rather, if I may so say, 
impalpable, yet most impressive and ori- 
ginal nature, who, while they speak or nar- 
rate, forciblv attract and arrest our atten- 
tion; yet when they have ceased, we find 
ourselves much at a loss to recal the ideas 
and words they had so well expressed ; still 
more to discover and give shape or form to 
the nameless indescrib&d)le charm that stamp- 
ed its character and its grace on the whole. 
O/this number was the Chevalier — a relic of 
that exquisitely accomplished race of " Gen- 
tlemen absolute,** (as our great poet hath 
it,) " at all points," fast vanishing— if in- 
deed, (which I suspect to be the case,) not 
long since vanitfbed from the country^ in 



their time, of proverbial elegance and re- 
finement. It is now one which alas I what with 
tlie progress of social licence, and disregard of 
decorum, under tlie name of indepeudance 
and free spiritedness, — ^what with the rapidly 
growing exclusive sway of the '* Plutocracy,'* 
and the universal extension of guard-room 
habits, mannera and feelings — ^bids fair to be- 
come celebrated to a precisely similar pitch in 
the reverse direction : *' nous avons chang^ 
tout cela, * is the exact expression of the pre- 
sent state of things. 

The next evening, according to appoint- 
ment, the Chevalier resumed his narration. 
** We romained for numy minutes afterwards 
motionless where Jeaimotte had stopped, 
intently gazing at the vacant spot whence 
the last glimpse of him, or rather vague 
trace of his movements, had reached our 
eyes — ^much — ^and who must not have ex- 
perienced the same impression on a like 
occasion ? — as one watches the gradually re- 
ceding image of a vessel that conveys away 
some dear friend or relative we have been 
obliged in, sorrow to part with* I pity the 
man, to say the least, if there be one, who, 
situated as we had been and then were, and 
under the circumstances, which had just 
passed, could think or feel otherwise than 
we did. 

It may, perhaps, occur to you— others to 
whom I have told the tale, not weighing the 
whole fieu^ts and bearings of the matter, have 
seemed to entertain Uie opinion, — that we 
exaggerated, in our impulse of gratitude, the 
obligations we stood really under to this 
friendly foe of our's. Recollect them a mo- 
ment, and you will comprehend fully what 
the roal extent of our debt was. True, we 
might only be considered as respited for a 
time ; the pledge we had made, we meant 
unquestionably to redeem, but then our 
liberator with much delicacy, had specified 
no precise period ; in gaining time we gained 
so much of life ; and, meanwhile, how many 
events might arise to create an honourable 
opening of final escape I the cessation of 
hostilities — a completely victorious over- 
throw of our adversaries. At the worst, 
(a forethought — ^we would not of course 
for a moment admit — ^but which very pro- 
bably may not bare been wiUiout some ini 



66 



crroBiBS OF ths ptbsnibs. 



fluence on the brave and generous Jeazmotte's 
determination,) under the unusual and ex- 
treme position in which prisoners were placed 
by the prevalence of an unnatural and nn- 
recognised system of warfare, the fulfilment 
of promises made — a parole given in a word 
might be, (and yon will see it was the 
opinion of the army,) looked upon as only 
within a limited extent binding. Add to 
these considerations, and many others of 
the same kind, which I shall not take the 
tft>uble of teasinff you and myself, by enu- 
merating — this nrst, and most paramount 
one that, in setting us free then, as he had 
done on a vague contingency, he exposed 
himself not only to the loss of rank — but of 
life; and, perlMips, venr nearly as imme- 
diately as ours was destined to be sacrificed, 
had he brought us to quarters. Let all this> 
I say, be duly appreciated, and where again 
is the man wortny of the name, who could 
have the shaming courage to say, he owed 
him but little — who had so nobly, so dis- 
interestedly, nay, self-sacrificingly done thus, 
much for us. Phaugh I I could — ^pardon 
the expression — 'tis between ourselves — I 
could almost roit upon such a feUow !*' 

The brave old soldier's lips curled with an 
expression of witherinff contempt; his eye 
lighted up and flashed. I thought it necessary 
to say, m deprecation of the burst, (and 
fearing, I must confess, he might now wan^ 
der further away firom the story,) *' that I 
had no sentiment of the kind— -iar from it— - 
that the whole was a supposition of his own. 
" Yes, yes, I know— I feel you have not — 
at your age the heart is yet warm and im- 

?ulsive. I touched on tne subject, because 
once or twice encountered cold, sdfish 
pickers of reasons and motives, who hinted 
their thoughts out to the efifect — I soon 
silenced them. I hate the whole race ; 
though would you suppose it ? I am be- 
lieved to belong to it — well, I admire peo- 
ple's penetration-— but to return.* 

" We at length turned away, slowly ad- 
vancmg for a long time, in mute unbroken 
silence, one of unaccountable heaviness, per- 
haps even melancholy might be more the 
the word, considering the altered situation 
we stood in: but a few minutes before in 
view of seemingly inevitable death— now 
released, and on the way to join our friends, 
and share in the joy of their success. But 
so I have almost constantly foimd it to 
happen to myself as well as to others, in 
neariy every one of the critical extremities, 
mj span of stn^gling experience has been, 
(thank heaven li I ^ve made profit on't) 
abundantly agitated by — imminence of dan- 



ger, excessive distress and sufiTering, are more . 
easily borne than is generally imagined^ 
There is a sort of elastic rewound in the 
human heart, (come it from instinct of self- 
love, of vanity, or of that courage of des- 
pair the most timid make often proof of, 
twere very useless to examine,) which urges 
at such moments, in presence of the world- — 
to bear up — ^to be braced for the worst, and 
dare it. A happy turn of fortune chancing, 
particularly as in the present case, precisely 
when least looked forward to, lays hold on 
one unprepared, and unnerved — ^the revul- 
sion is overwhelming, and for a while, no 
consciousness ofsafety— of deliverance fitmi 
misfortune— even of enjoyment, sufiices well 
to enable one to resist the temporary influ- 
ence of the depression. So we deeply ex- 
perienced, in this instance, one of the many 
I have had occasion to draw the remark 
from. 

'* By and by, however, difiTerent feelings as 
well as new incidents came to direct and 
remove us from this dull confusion, or 
rather prostration of thought and sense ; I 
wish I could have it to say, that among the 
former, that of a thankfulness uttered in a 
prayer to Providence was foremost. I have 
already confessed my &ults of bold pre- 
suming youth-^the less again said on the 
matter, tne more agreeable to my conscience, < 
which, mind you— 4ievertheless, has kept 
good note of this, and most other points it 
erred in." 

"The sun — ('twas already past noon) 
shone brilliantly out, and we were comforted 
by its warmth neariy for the first time for 
many weeks thus gladdening us ; under its 
influence, and that of a sweeping wind that 
rose, the heavy vapour accumulated in slug- 
gish masses over tne lower parts of the vd- 
ley, here quickly dispersed. As we emer- 
ged out of it, we could feel the invigorating 
breath of a fr^esher and drier air — the trees 
and green shrubs swayed about under the 
breeze were dashing away the sad-looking 
drops their leaves had been hanging with— 
to our imagination, as we passed but a while 
ago, like tears — ^there was something in all 
this — (the sensation inwardly stirred us) to 
enliven and rejoice. But better, far better, 
and more viridly still, did we start into the 
full sentiment of joyful existence, and the 
luxury of hope, when, according as we neared 
our own flag, we could descry more distinct- 
ly at every st^, when we had attained the 
same level or ground they occupied (the 
firing of musketry and artillery havinff no- 
wise slackened meantime) wdl formed and 
posted lines of foot and horse, bewiag uni* 



TBI PBIS0NXII8 ON PABOLB. 



63 



hraa familiar^ and now so doubly dear to 
oir eyes, the foremost of which were advan- 
ciag with an inspiring shout, in which with 
out wicked voices we enthusiastically joined. 

'* Praised be heaven* ! we added in the same 
breath, 'they are charging, lets on — who 
knows — ^we may be in tune' I 

"We hurried forward towards the near 
ranks, among which we recognized nearest to 
us, with what spiinging delight you may well 
judge, our own regiment— or rather, the 
shattered squadron or so of it, that had sur- 
vived our late day of slaughter. They had 
been ordered, I heard afterwards, with much 
repining on the part both of officers and men, 
to this post, as being inefficient from fatigue 
and loss, to take a more active part in the 
engaffement. 

"^ Long before we reached the line of 
videttes, we had been perceived, and a party 
detached to meet and question us. Scarcely 
had we halted within speaking distance, and 
the usual challenges passed, when spite of 
the ordiuaiy obs^ances of discipline, the 
cry, the wondeiing exclamation, " 'tis Mer- 
iuhac, 'tis Juvigny I — alive stiU," burst with 
glad shout from our comrade in command, 
and was in various tones of surprise, incre* 
dulity and pleasure, re-echoed by all. We 
were known to, and knew almost every one 
in the corps, composed as I have said for 
the greater part ofyoune men of the better 
order. ' Meiinhac and de Juvigny — ^impos- 
sible—by what miracle ? We were imme- 
diately surrounded— all distinctions of rank 
and order beine for the moment forgotten— 
and seised, and pulled, and embraced, and 
fididt&ted almost to suffocation. When the 
movement, dear and gratifying to us, had 
subsided, and there was a possibility of 
answering each other, the questions began 
anew. ' You ask by what miracle,' I re- 
plied, '''tis a miracle— you are perfectly right 
m calling it so-— one you wilf scarcely be- 
Heve when I tell it you ; meantime pray let's 
move on to join. I am impatient to report 
myself and fellow suffiarer to our exceAent 
colonel, and ask permission to share in the 
charge.' Here I was informed of the inter- 
dict laid on us. 'Sorry for it, veiy sorry ; as 
much as you, I should have liked to have 
had another touching of blades to the hilt, 
and deqier if I could, before lying down — 
with those rascally cannibals ; but I fc»-get, 
I should not speak thus hardly of them, 
they are not all so bad — ^no, by Jove I far 
from that.' A look of yet greater astonish- 
ment encountered me— I did not notice it. 
' Yes, they have somethmg good in them, 
moro eaprediCTme ! I regret to be obliged 



to say so— than many of ours.' The amaze 
redoubled ; they appeared as if they thought 
me unsettled in my wits ; Juvigny's coun- 
tenance, which was stared at too, testified 
concurrence in my assertions. 'You may 

ripe, and gaze, and be astounded, but when 
tell you, (this is the marvel that I. knew 
you would not give credit to) — ^that if you 
behold us here in safety, rescued three times, 
I may say, from death either by fatigue and 
pain, and exhaustion, or assassination in 
cold blood — ^we are indebted for it to two 
individuals of their number ; one of whom, 
moreover, not twenty minutes since, at risk 
and peril of life, released, and put us on the 
way to come up with you here*' A murmur, 
half still of derisive dubiousness, half of 
admiring wonderment, followed my words. 
' Gentlemen/ 1 cried, ' I am not accustom* 
ed to have the acciu^u:y of what I state cal- 
led in question ; if you think fit however in 
the strangeness of the occurrence to do so-^ 
look at the equipment of the horses we 
ride — ^you will know them in an instant to 
belong to the enemy ;' and I added, stopping 
short, and turning round, (they followed my 
motions) we were now on the highest ridges 
of the eminence; and the clearing of the 
weather enabled us to command an extensive 
view downwards—' cast your eyes attentively 
below there, and you will perhups distinguish 
the escort that guarded us so far.' 

The sun was still bright, the fog quite 
dispelled ; and almost immediately as I had 
made an end of speaking, a few seconds, close 
glance gave us slimpse of those we sought 
to see ; we could tolerably plainly perceive 
they had dismounted, and, bridle in hand, 
were making an effort to ascend sideways 
the face of the steep towards the right. 

"May they succeed," was my inward 
wish, and now no doubt that of many of my 
companions, almost every one, (I must say 
that of them) as ardent in their good wilj> 
when as here stirred into it by a ffenerous 
act--as in their hate to the Republic and 
Republicans. 

" De Merinhac — ^my dear De Merinhac ! — 
we did not mean to doubt— not a moment 
to doubt your word, but the thing is so ex- 
traordinary, so out of the way, so 
miraculous— do pray tell how it could pos- 
sibly happen ?" "Miraculous or not, it is the 
fact, ana should lead us another time 
(however we detest their principles) to 
think better of those we are combatting;' 
and yet more strongly teach us a lesson, 
though a tardy <Mie, in humanity, apinst 
which we, as Uiey, have hitherto, so deeply 
siuned," 



58 



STORIES OF THE PYRENEES. 



t€ 



I shortly related what had passed. In- 
terest — ^pity — ^horror, hut ahove all admira- 
tion, grew as I spoke. At the conclusion, 
an universal buzz broke forth : — * Fine fel- 
low ! by Heaven, noble fellow !* for his sake 
and the Vivandiere*s, the niffians do de- 
serve quarter." 

''I did not fail, you can easily imagine, to 
encourage the latter feeling, both on the pre- 
sent occasion and every other that afterwards 
presented itself; and I had the satisfaction 
(I shall here anticipate a little) in some days 
to find, from my exertions in making known 
and commenting on the circumstances, that 
thereexisted in our corps, as well as in several 
others, a tacit, if not exactly prescribed, un- 
derstanding, that prisoners ttere to be made 
when and where they might offer themselves. 
So much for the effects of a single great and 
good example. 

'* By tliis time we had reached the head of 
the regiment (let me call it so still, I can't 
bear to recollect what a shadow it had be- 
come). Here we were surrounded, congra- 
tulated, and pressed in friendly arms, as be- 
fore, with stricter attention, however, to mil- 
itary decorum. Our wortliy colonel nearly 
wept as he welcomed us. After a few words 
of deep kindness, he ordered us to take place to 
right nront of the first troop ; " yonr own now/* 
he added, " gentlemen;" (of our former one, 
alas! but five men remained,) it is yours 
by right of seniority, and of what you have 
done. I put you there besides," he continu- 
ed, in a most affectionate tone, '' because you 
have need of compensation for the sufferings 
yoa have gone through ; and that that you 
will find in seeing those who infiicted 
them rightly punished ; even now they are 
well nigh routed and crushed.*' 

*' We bowed, and took the allotted posts, 
whence we had quickly the promised gra- 
tification of beholding the total discomfi- 
ture of the whole division of the republican 
forces, which, after an unsuccessful attempt 
to rally, tumultuously retreated, leaving the 
greater part of their luggage, ammunition, 
and some arms in our hands. This feeling 
was not unalloyed by the regret and annoy- 
ance we all had at not being allowed even to 
take part in the subsequent pursuit ; a move- 
ment which, however, for one consolation, it 
soon became necessary to check, as evening 
was closing in, and the grounds the enemy 
was constrained to throw itself into as before, 
broken and marshy along the flat line of 
country, — ^were quite untenable for our ca- 
valry, and without its help, the infantiy was 
too small in nimibers to permit the hopes of 
A safe and effectual advance. 



" By nightf;dl we occupied the town they 
had been driven from — where that very 
moniing my fellow prisoner and myself had 
had our sentence passed. Aye ! — and an aidi- 
tioiial chancing of the usual ups-aud-downs 
aiid fortimes of war— our quarters were poin- 
ed out at the principal gate, and we occupied 
the identical guard-room we had passed, 
under such diilereut circumstances, the pre- 
ceding night in — ^sdll reeking with the abo- 
minable fumes of their tobacco, their rum, 
and kirchenwasser, and garlic. 

" Some hours before day, news arrived of the 
successful issue of the corresponding attempt 
that had been made at the otner point I have 
told you of. A firee communication between 
the two was soon established, so that nothing 
.could be more complete than the advant- 
age gained — laboriously — strugglingly ; with 
great loss, it must be confessed — ^but still 
gained. 

'' I must not forget to add, that we both on 
the occasion of these two, our days of all 
days of hard lot — ^received the cross of Saint 
Louis, and were promoted, Juvigny to a 
lieutenancy, and I to be comfnandant-ehrf 
cf ucadron — perhaps rewards might have 
been worse earned. 

** It would be as useless for ray purpose, 
as tiresome to you, to dwell at length on the 
detail of tlie next few day's operations, 
while we continued to hold the lines 
we had succeeded in making ourselves mas- 
ters of. I have already told as much of our 
marchings and coimter-marchings as may 
give a tolerable idea of what description of 
campaigning was then and there between us. 
The time passed in slight ineffective skir- 
mishing on either side, each party awaiting 
anxiously the coming of a fresh reinforce- 
ment, which might enable it to make a de- 
cisive final movement. More than a week 
was spent thus — tr« had received promise of 
speedy succour, and were in active prepara* 
Uon for asssuming the offensive as soon as it 
should arrive. Th^ evidently, it could be con- 
cluded as well from their general attitude 
and system of manoeuvering, as from the veiv 
necessities of the position they occupied, 
were unavoidably and absolutely in the same 
case. These moments of delay and expect- 
ation of ** something going ool*"^** some- 
thing to be done" — every one who has been 
even for a short period in acdve senice 
knows are peculiarly dull and gloom-stir- 
ring. We endeavoured, and not wholly in 
vain, to render them less so by various 
means and appliances set on foot, and fol- 
lowed up (the usual happening) with the 
greater zest and sseal, because of the instants 



THE PBISONEBS ON PAROLB. 



59 



ot enjoyment so snatched no one could be 
certain how brief and transitoiy they might be. 
Youth and its buoyant recklessness was ours^ 
and even in the very face and aspect of the 
most serious danger, often prompted us, 
through pleasure and through folly, to seize 
on even the semblance of a present good, 
however fleeting and unreal, lest ill might 
come before that shadow could be grasped. 
Then we dined — ^we drank — ^we gamea, — 
above all we danced — " nationalism*' (as *Us 
the fashion to say now a-days) did not quit 
us there-— the dames and maidens of the town 
had no reason to complain of lack of gal- 
lantly or delicate attentiveness on our part ; 
it was, on the contrary, only a contest among 
us who should do most in the research to 
please them, and cater for their amusement. 
Among the number of devices hit upon 
with this intent, was that of private thea- 
ricals, and to it we set with migbt and main, 
organizing casts — distributing characters — 
pounding iuto head long speeches — dres- 
sing, decorating, and all the etceteras of the 
grave occupation, as though no enemy was 
crouching in wait nearly within gunshot, 
ready, in the midst of our antics perhaps, to 
dash upon us and make unpleasant realities 
of them. Do not at all wonder at it — such, I 
repeat, was our heedless quicksilver charac- 
ter—one that never abandoned us to the 
lost and worst through all the miseries and 
heart-torturings of that fatal time. To 
sport and be gay unto death and in death, 
seemed the axiom and principle of oiur ex- 
istence as it then was. How many errors, 
how many crimes, how much waste of life, 
and energy, and bravery, even unavailing — 
even, it would seem, foredoomed to perish 
— might have been spared ! if — but let me 
not croak, I should rather hasten to make 
an end of my weary tale. The circumstan- 
ces which occurred more particularly as con- 
cerned me, for I was leader of the fun — to 
stay this new feverish fancy of ours exactly 
as it had attained its height, are precisely 
such as naturally furnish me with an oppor- 
tunity of doing so. 

" I was a good deal intimate, (acquaintance 
springs up with ready quickness under pres- 
sure of cnange and peril) in one family of 
wealthy burghers — quite the good class — ^re- 
presentatives of a worthy, sterling old race 
we meet with, I regret to say, no longer — 
honest as virtuous, and unpretending as both. 
I had rendered them by chance some slight 
service by avoiding their inconvenience in 
the allotment of quarters for our men, and 
they were thankful. I frequently supped 



with them and stayed late — ^sometimes alone 
— sometimes in company with one or two 
brother officers. The night I am going to 
speak of, I went and retiuned alone, having 
romained chatting and playing much beyond 
the usual hour of retiring. My way lay 
through the suburbs, nearest skirtmg the re- 
publican outposts, which they overhung so 
that a tolerable view of what was passing 
along the luie, could thence be at all times 
commanded in clear weather. The moon was 
up — the sky and air frosty and sparkling — 
it had become easy to watch and distinguish 
every movement that might be going ou in 
the camp. Curiosity, natural enough you 
will admit, and perhaps the impulse of a 
little excitement, as I, in turn, must allow, 
pi'ompted me often to look long and closely. 
The good Dame Kohler and her three charm- 
ing girls of daughters, not to mention 
Meinherr Kohler himself, who was a full, 
staunch, aud never-flinching bottle-man, 
had managed to ply me with a slight por- 
tion more " Heimer,'' than the exact rules 
of the service, well interpreted, would sanc- 
tion ; aud, perhaps, than I would have ven« 
tured on, but that the influence of so many 
smiling, good-mlling, and wishing faces is 
hard to be resisted, particularly when the 
wine is the rarest ot rare " Heimer." 

" Well, I went on musing, peeping, and 
spying from one instant to another, getting 
steadier at every step (recollect I have not 
said, nor mean to insinuate, that I was posi- 
tively unsteady) ; merely I had a very lit- 
tle passed the point where the two principles 
are at loggerheads (the right one soon pre- 
dominated). What with the cooling touch 
of the night wind — ^what with the attentively 
serious occupation 1 made for myself, of 
looking over and inspecting, with searching 
eye, evexy perceptible stir and hum of the 
evening ; — one is often (at least in one's own 
opinion) particularly clear-sighted in such 
cases : — however, my young friend, I do not 
recommend — far from that, to you or to any 
fresh enterer iuto the world's stage and strug- 
gle, this means of keeping a sharp look out. 
" I saw nothing, though I gazed long ;— - 
all was motionless and quiet, with the excep- 
tion of the occasional relief of sentinels, and 
80 forth. On arriving aflerwards, as quickly 
as I could, at quarters, I had reason, I found, 
to regret, and that deeply, the delay. 

" My trooper (the one that replaced in my 
service poor Comtois,) met me eagerly on 
the small open space before the guard- 
house. '' Commandant," he said, '' I am 
yery sorry to see you so late } there has been 



60 



SnOBIU OF THB PTUBNBI8* 



one here to ask for you — on business — bu- 
siness of life and death : the person says 
she wont speak to any one but yourself." 

" ' She r — ^who?— >what do you mean?' 

'' ' I don't exactly know. She insisted on 
staying 'till she saw you. I put her into your 
room there within, and locked it ; she would 
taste neither meat, nor drink, though I offer- 
ed her both — only wants to see you. Me- 
thinks she's of the "blues," though well 
wrapped up ^you know best. Command- 
ant, you have your own secrets." 

'''A thought flashed, as it well might, into 
my mind.' Did she name any one, or 
say why she wanted me ?* 

" 'Yes, I think heard something about a 

Charles — Charlotte, or Jeannotte, or * 

' Devil and damnation,' 1 believe I 



uncontrollably burst out with — 'tis — can be 
no one else than the Vivandiere, come to 
tell me that my rescuer, my brave, and ge- 
nerous rescuer is, perhaps, himself in the 
danger he saved me from ! 

*' 'What's the matter. Captain ? — beg par- 
don. Commandant. Why, you are quite 

odd,— out of sorts, — excuse me, to 

night, the guard will turn out if you 

roar so,^— ^thegirl, and right sood look- 
ing she is, talked of you, and showed me 

your diamond ring, 1 thought I did for 

the best in lettinsr her stay, however, ' 

" ' Tis she, — tis she, I am sure, out 

of the way — I'm late,— I'm perhaps dishon- 
oured. A curse on you ! — quick I' snatch- 
ing a key, which he held in hb hand, and 

leaving tne poor fellow half stupified, 

and it was nothing strange, that he 
should be so^ — at my violence, — ^he,only in 
his simple good naturedness, thinking ukete 
was an intrigue in question. I rushed with 
most unmilitary, and, I must confess, unoffi- 
cerlike precipitation, through the ranges of 
palletnbeds occupied by the men, who, half 
asleep, half awake, scared at me stupidly as 
I passed. I opened the inner room appro- 
priated to my use, and there, as I expected, 
found myself in presence of a female, who 
started up as I entered ; and whom, in spite 
of her deep cloaking disguise, I could not 
for a fraction of a second fail to recognize 
as the worthy, well-souled young creature 
whose prompt accents of loudness, more, 
perhaps, than the help she was able to give, 
had done us so much service when we most 
stood in need of it. 

" ' Tis you, — I thought/^I was sure of 
it«— -what's the matter ? — how did you come 

here P— Charle8-*-Jeannotte, ' 

*' Such were the exclamations that broke 
hastily from my lips, while she was recover- 



ing from the kmd of disturbance my abrupt 
entrance had created. Weaiiness, sleep, 
and anxiety, were on her, and she had some 
difficulty in contending against them, when 
I came thus suddenly to rouse her. 

".'You may well ask the question. Captain 
Meriuhac, how I did manage. I have done 
it, that is enough ; and I am here, to free 
you, perhaps, — I don't know,— from a pain 
that would hang heavy for ever on your 
heart ; for I believe it, though an aristocrat's, 
good and true. I know more of you than 
you think ; and he too, ? 



As she spoke these words brokenly and 
inteiTuptedly, but with a tone of natoral pas- 
sionate vehemence that was irresistibly move- 
ing, her eye dilated — her heart heaved ; — 
there was a change in all her person that 
seemed at once to raise her from the hum- 
ble being that she was, to a position com- 
manding respect, even from those least in- 
clined to grant it. 

" I was, you can easily presume, from what 
I have told had preceded, more than I wi^h 
now to confess, startled and damped, or as it 
is sometimes said in trite language, ** struck 

all of a heap,"-: He ? Who ? 

Jeannotte ? 

'* ' Yes, he, Charles, — the young brother 
of my heart and hope, condemned to be shot 

to-morrow, for for suffering you and 

your youth of a Comet to escape. I— - 

came, — I'm come to tell you !' 

" The shock, though expected and foreseen 
as it had been, unsettled, nay, overpowered, 
me for a few mmutes ; and then — so quickly, 
in times when we scarcely know what im- 
pulse is most rife, does one impresssion com- 
bat with another — ^restored me to the full pos- 
session of whatever degree of judgment and 
sense I may, perchance, have had claim to. 
" 'Yourbrotner — my preserver — ^your bro- 
ther 1 condemned to die for me, No, 

no— it shall not be, 1 say trooper, there 

— Trugot, — Faillebois, ' 

" ' She placed her hands on my lips, — I 

knew I was right, — I knew 1 did not 

mistake when I thought you had a heart, — 
silence-^on't stir,— -what can you do ?' 

" ' What can I do ? — Deliver myself up 
with my companion ; I know him— he will 

not flinch, nor I what can I do ? 

Will it be enough, though P' 

" She sat down, and a few tears gleamed 
in her eye, the only ones that had been yet 
there. ' No, not enough, — you have said 
it, — ^neglect of duty,— -dbobedience of orders, 
— the very suspicion of having some personal 
interest or connection in all, weigh against 
him. He is marked as bemg of your class, 



THE PRI80NEBS ON PABOLB. 



61 



because .* She paused^ and a blush 

quickened on her cheek. 

" ' Because ' 

'* ' Mr. De Merinhac, your father was a — a 
gay man ; this is no time for vain hesitation 
— and my mother, who is gone — ^was attached 
— ^to the family — when you were at home — 
there at the castle near "Pau .* 

** 'And so you and he are the children of 
that -good and excellent woman whom I re- 
collect to have watched me when I was a 
heedless child — in our old park at Bregeac, 
climbing the highest trees, riding about on 
the wildest colts. Tis a wretched un- 
founded calumny you speak of! — but the 
name is not the same — ^it was something 
like Bemotte — ^not Jeannotte — I think Ber- 
nadotte . Yes, Bexnadotte, — I remem- 
ber now, — all — my early days — ^and the 
fresh air of the hills — come, you are my 
sister — ^in tie of kindness, at least, I mean.' 
I clasped her in my arms; — could I do 
less ? and in turns half sobbed. 

''You know the name, and the man. 
He has since risen by his bravery and his 
talents to a height which every act of his 
proved him to have been well worthy of 
attaining — albeit only the son of a poor 
mechanic. 'Tis I who say it, despite of 
my principles,— or if you will, prejudices, 
and those of my class. Certes, in the case 
he deserves no less, — ^nay, perhaps^ more, as 
you will hear from me. A few words of ex- 
planation, and the rest of this old babbling 
of mine I shall endeiavour to be brief in — 
on some other evening I may tell you more 
detailed particulars . 

" It was the custom, you are aware, among 
the soldiers of the republican army, as 
among others, often to designate by a 
kind of pet nick-name, those of their com- 
rades who distinguished themselves. Almost 
immediately on joining, the young Bema- 
dotte (forced as well as this elder sister — a 
simple, uneducated, but as you have seen 
high-minded creature, who loved him with 
the more undivided affection, because she 
looked upon him as the only stay and prop 
left her, — by family losses and misfortunes, 
to seize on any means of getting wherewith 
to live) had made himself remarkable by 
several acts of equal daring and caution — 
promotion was the quick consequence. 
Charles Jean Bemadotte seemed to the wits' 
of the ranks, a somewhat too long and aris- 
tocratic looking name, so, with military fa- 
miliari^, they took the liberty first, of con- 
tracting it to "Charles Jeannotte," and 
finally, as he became more talked of and 
known, to the diminutive of " Jeannot," or 



4t 



Le Petit Jeannot." Mimette, 'twas her 
name — an odd one — ^you may, however, 
have heard it often in these provinces, — 
continued to follow his fortunes, and soon 
obtained considerable camp popularity, for 
her attentive kindness to the wounded, and 
extreme promptness in afilbrding them on 
every side what assistance she was capa- 
ble of, hence too, the usual designation of 
Mere Labiche, she, generally, in troopers' 
language, went by. Such, with many others 
there is no need of repeating now, were the 
details I hurriedly and brokenly asked and 
listened to during the few moments that 
followed this sort of recognition." 

" What was to be done? as she had said 
the giving ourselves up, which of course, 
there would not have been the least hesita- 
tion about, would not sufiSce to save him. 
I felt well convinced of it, knowing the 
cruel unmitigated severity with which, under 
the eye of Uie functionaries, referred to so 
often in the course of my story, the rules of 
discipline were enforced in Uie corps they 
had under immediate inspection. 

"A thought struck me, — ^you will soon 
seize it up. In telling hastily how she had 
succeeded in gaining our lines, she had 
mentioned a point of thein, in extreme 

proximity to us .* Is it there,* I asked 

eagerly, 'he — my friend — ^my deliverer is 
confined ?* 

" ' Yes,* she answered with equal precipi- 
tation — ' ah ! if you could be allowed — the 
guard is but small — I — — yes, I — though 
treachery it be, perhaps— to save him — ^a 
brother — the dearest, best of brothers — would 

guide you .' How quickly — ^but so 

always it is in extremities like this — we had 
understood each other almost without a 
word passing as to the definite object I had 
in view. 'Twas — have you guessed it all? — 
no matter — to see my excellent and humane 
Colonel, or the General himself, if he 
could not grant permission — to state the 
case — my position, my obligations which 
they already knew that we both owed, 
Juvigny and myself, to our noble enemy, 
to whum we were indebted for life and 
liberty. Nay, more — since he was on 
the point of being sacrificed on our account 
— to ask, and if I did not succeed in being 
put at the head of a skirmishing party, 
charged to attempt his rescue — at once, 
under any circumstances or chances, to sur- 
render myself up, and submit to eveiy fate 
rather than not try the utmost in my power 
to save my fiiend and myself from the dis- 
grace and remorse of not acting as we had 
been acted towards. Without again speak- 



62 



STOBIES OF THE PYRSNEE9. 



ing I took her ann in mine— roused up 
Juvigny — and ran rather than walked to the 
Colonel's quarters. 

" To my delight I found him up— (every 
time I think on it, I cannot help more and 
more hlessing Providence that it should 
have graciously willed on this occasion that 
every thing should have occurred so for- 
tunately) — reading orders he had a few 
minutes before received — he testified sur- 
prise and some displeasure at the interrup- 
tion, which soon wore off, and rather changed 
to interest and S3'mpathy as he listened to 
what I came to say — at mention of my de- 
tennination (in which Juvigny declared his 
concurrence) to deliver myself up . 

" • That you f/udl not do, he said — I put 
you both under arrest if you attempt it.* 
We made an expression aloud of expostu- 
lation. 

"* Silence, gentlemen !* he interposed se- 
verely — ' do you remember whom you 
speak to ?* — ^but conic, I must be indul- 
gent — I see. Attend to what I say. I can 
do better for you, and am glad of it for the 
brave young fellow's sake (Mimette's eye 
lighted up) and yours. In the first place, 
one of tnese papers regards you both — 
(showing it) a council of war has been held 
on your case at my request — the decree is 
given at length here. It wholly and com- 
pletely (I merely mention the heads) in 
consideration of the extreme circumstances 
of an unnatural and sanguinary war car- 
ried on against all usual rules, &c. exone- 
rates you and Mr. De Juvigny from the 
necessity of fulfilling the parole you have 
given — wait a moment, perhaps, in your 
mood of mind just now, I have still better 
news (takhifr up another despatch) 1 ain 
ordered by this, to continue, in conjunction 
with the other cor|)s stationed in the city, 
the system of skinnishing on the enemy's 
lines. I put your troop on duty, — to horse, 
— ^you know fthere togo^ 

I could have hugged the good man to 
stifling ; Mimette had nearly fallen at his 
feet. Juvigny started and ran to seize his 
hand, — * stop, sto]),* he said, wildly, but au- 
thoritatively — •' this is nonsense — ^you lose 
time— off, and God prosper you,* 

" Of what use making a long tale of the 
sequel, which passed so quickly. Our 
attack or irruption, for such it was (each 



man of the troop seemed to have the one 
spirit with us) une3q)ected, unforeseeD, and 
ill-guarded against-— completely succeeded, 
and we had the triumphantly delicious sa- 
tisfaction of carrying away in safety our 
enemy — ^preserver and friend, — and thus 
acquitting a part of the sacred debt we had 
incurred towards him. I shall add, to have 
done with the subject, that this feeling vras 
increased long before the close of the war, 
which gradually lost its character of ferocity, 
by learning that the sentence which con- 
demned him had been reversed ; and being 
enabled on an exchange of prisoners to in- 
clude liim in it. We parted as men part, 
or ought to part., who have known and been 
able to estimate one another, as we all three 
had — with eyes full and hearts fallen, and 
not a word on our lips. He was restored to 
his rank, — ^you are acquainted with the rest. 
Years rolled on — I returned late to France, 
and there found, what the most of us fomid, 
— penury, or its nearest equivalent, for my 
share; but for the assistance of our kind 
friends of Montgardat, things had been still 
worse with me. 

" Can you guess who came to relieve me 
wholly from a state, that I, with my tastes 
and habits could indifferently bear? — though 
I made effort to do so with what grace or 
grimace I could. Charles Jean Bemadotte, 
or, as I better like to call him, Charles 
Jeannotte, when he came to the throne, 
caused enquiries to be made after me through 
the Swedish Ambassador, and having suc- 
ceeded in discovering where, and how I was 
situated, in a letter peimed with his own 
hands, (I shall show it you one day) in the 
kindest and most delicate manner requested 
nie ' as an old friend and brother soldier, 
to confer an obligation on him by accepting 
a yearly pension which he knew I stood in 
gi'eat need of, and which he hoped I would 
not refuse from an old friend and brother 
in arms,' It has restored me- to the en- 
jonnent of the comforts I could ill si>are in 
my old days. * So my youngster,* added the 
veteiun, tapping me on the shoulder — ' there 
are, and recollect it well as you pass through 
life — good people in all parties . *' 

" And Mimette ?*' 

She became a great dame of the im- 
perial court. I may tell you her adventures 
another time, — good night.*' 



TIIE NATIVE ItUSIC OF nUSLAND. 63 



THE NATIVE MUSIC OF IRELAND. 

We have already giren assurance to our readers^ that we are not dead to this subject;* 
and in commenciug our third volume, we publish three Irish airs. We hare somethiDg 
to say about each of them. 

No. I. 

This is drawn from a MSS. book compiled years ago, which we shall call the " Far- 
mer and O'iteilly collection." Edward Fanner was a countr}*' schoolmaster who had 
settled in Dublin, in an obscure lodging off Charlemont-street, and taught, (amongst 
other things) the Irish language. About the year 1817, he reckoned amongst his pupils, 
some, who, desirous to acquire a knowledge of the language, were no less anxious about 
the music of their country^ Having introduced them to several works of merit upon the 
subject of their tasks, — such as the grammars of O'Brien, Neilson, Haliday, &c.he did not 
neglect to stimulate them to purchase the '* Sanas Gaoidhilge-Sagsbhearla," or, ** Irish- 
English Dictionary, containing upwards of 20,000 words that had never appeared in any 
former Irish Lexicon," then recently published by Edward O'Reilly. O'Reilly was 
found in a small house at Harold's Cross : he, in addition to the copy of his dictionary, 
communicated a collection of native airs. From this, and from others handed by Far- 
mer, the collection in question was made up, with the addition of several airs noted down 
at the time, as sung by people in the country. Both these men have long since paid the 
debt of nature. They lived and died in want and neglect ; the pupils who attended them 
spent the utmost penuies of their then means, in discharging the debts which they 
incurred in procuring their literary assistance, and had nothing^ left, save their heart-felt 
but unavailing sympathies, to console the declining days of those men, who, had they 
lived to times wlien nationality has become more dear, would have been valued and 
prized no less than other precious relics of the times which hare been. 

This air is givep in two parts, with precision, from the notation of the MSS. we have 
mentioned. They closely resemble each other, but with marked differences, and in this 
respect afford a specimen of a peculiar form of Irish Music. But their remark- 
able characteristic is found in the stnicture of the phrase comprised in the emphatic 
beginning of thejifth bar, and the close of the fourth leading to it. In each case, these 
siugular passages are preceded and followed by double phrases of four bars ; that is, — 
phrases, each composed of two bars, which,' without this intervention, might have been a 
tune of an ordinary class ; but toUh it, happily introduced as it is, produce an effect which 
surprizes no less than it satisflcs. 

The metre which becomes requisite f^r it as a song, becomes, likewise, peculiar. We 
give the following attempt to express it. We have had no access to any copy of 
original words, save the Irish title which is found in the MSS. The air is plainly a 
taiee^une. 

• Art — ** National Mnsie and Musicians,*' vol. i. pp. 192^196. Art— << The Ancient Music of 
Irtland," vol U. pp. 207_2I3. 



64 THE NATIVE MUSIC OF IBELAND. 

Cia an bealac a DeacaiDf). 

«<THE MOTHEE'S LAMENTATION." 

I. 

She wu mild •» the sttimner air, 
Like the timid dove's were her eyes ; 

Oh my child. 
Oh my child, 
80 gentle, pure, and ftiir. 
Thy he^rt would break to hear thT mother's lifha. 
When I saw thee smile I was glad. 
But my hours of joy, alas ! are o*er — 

She is gone. 
She is gone. 
And this aching heart is sad. 
For I shall noTor, never, see her more. 

XL 

Dark and drear is my lonely home 
For her song is hnsh'd on the hill. 

She is gone. 
She is gone. 
O'er the stormy seas to roam. 
And soon this weary heart shall eease to thrilL 
Bre the summer's sun shall have smiled 
She may come ngoidng to our shore. 
But I feel, 
Butlfeel, 
In parting with my child. 

That I shall never, never, see her more. 

No. II. 

How shall we introduce this incomparable air to the readers of The Citizen ? It 
was sung by Sarah Curran! Sbe — the idol of the poet's imagination in so many of 
bis Melodies {b) — as she wandered, in her grief and melancboly, amid the wild furze- 
breaks of " The Priory/' (c) sang this strain. — Ah t who shall ever hear such sounds 
again ? 

In the years which followed *98, it was the solace of every peasant — of every heart, 
gentle or simple, which felt for the sorrows of this distracted country. It is still 
thought of and treasured amid the same classes. Shall it longer be buried ? Are 
our tyrants stricken down, and shall we hesitate to circulate its numbers, far and wide, 
amongst the young generation which has sprung up in times, behind in date, but, 
praised be Heaven I not behind in the love and adoration of otnr darling Mother- 
Land I 

Many have suug-Hknd still sing, this air — as of one part only. And so does the 
strain grow upon the ear, that its freshness is never (lEtded— even by endless repetition. 
Others add a second part. For the perfect genuineness^ therefore, of tkie, we do not 
answer, yet it has its claims. Of the principal (first) part, different versions prevail with 
different memories. We have selected and given tliose which appear to us most true, 
and we have done this in a form which nuny have been used, in a manner often used 
amongst the traditional singers of the peasantry themselves. An air, no doubt, bonrowed 
from the national music, is found in Paer's Genevra di Soazia^nnd it is corroboratory that 
it bears a similar second part. We state this from an old recollection, it being many 
years since we saw a copy of that opera. 



(6) Moore's Irish Melodies—" iS%« u Jarfhm the Lamd,**^'* When he who udom Om/ A'e. #c 
(c) Curran s retirement— between Bafthfamham and BalUnteer. 



TH£ NATIVE MUSIC OF IRELAND. 65 

We cannot imce, from remembrance^ the ballad which was sung with it. Scraps here 
and there we can recollect ; but many '' various readings" prevail ; enough to furnish 
volumes for true-bom Scholiasts. Some make " Buonaparte" the hero of the song — ^but 
*tis oftener, and we think more truly " Nappcr Tandy" — for he was an Iriidunan^— and 
although he has not left behind him a pure reputation for patriotism, yet, doubtless, he 
was once, in his day, admired and trusted by the people. Here is one version of four of 
the lines : — 

I met with Buonaparte, he took me by the hand. 

Saying ** how is old Ireland, and how does she stand," 

'* 'Tis the most distressed country that ever I have seen ; 

They are hanging men and women for the wearing of the green." 

Others will have them thus : — 

I met with Napper Tandy, he took mo by the hand. 

Saying, ** how is old Ireland, my own native land," 

'* 'Tis the most distressed country that ever yet was seen ; 

They are hanging men and women there for wearing of the green.'* 

We do not recollect anything in the whole range of traditional poetry equal to these 
latter lines. Never was music fitter for poetry. Never were voice, music, and poetry so 
enchanting in combination, as when Sarah Cun*an waked, with these accents, the echoes 
by the streams from her native mountains. 

Here was a fragment of the second part — 

'* There's green upon my cape. 
Oh I there's green upon my cape. 

And my native land 

I cannot stand ; 
There's green upon my cape." 

On these foundations, we have put together the following words :— 

« THE WEARING OF THE GREEN." 

I. 

' Farewell, for I must leave thee, my own, my native shore, 
And doom*d in foreign lands to dwell, may never see thee more. 
For laws, our tyrant laws, have said, that seas must roll between 
Old Erin and her faithful sons, that love to wear the Green. 
Oh 1 we love to wear the Green — 
Oh I how we love the Green, 
Our native land 
We cannot stand 
For wearing of the Green : 
Yet wheresoe'er the exile lives, though ocean's roll between. 
Thy faithful sons will fondly sing ** The wearing of the Green." 

n. 

My father lov'd his country, and sleeps within her breast, 
While I, that would have died for her, must never so be blest ; 
Those tears my mother shed for me, how bitter they had been. 
If I had prov'd a traitor to " The wearing of the Green." 

There were some that wore the Green 

Who did betray the Green, 
Our native land 
We cannot stand 

Through traitors to the Green : 
Yet whatsoe'er our fate may be, when oceans roll between. 
Her fatthAil sons will ever sing ** The wearing of the Green." 

nL 

My own, my native island, where'er I chance to roam, 
Thy lonely hills shall ever be my own beloved home ; 
And brighter days must surely come, than those that we have seen. 
When Erin's sons may boldly sing ** The wearing of the Green." 

£ 



66 THE NATIVE MUSIC OF IRELAND. 

For we lore to wear the Green— 
Oh I how we love the Green, 
Our native land 
We cannot stand 
For wearing of the Green : 
'^ Bat brighter days must surely come, than those that wc have seen, 

When all her sona may proniUy sing " the wearing of the Green." 

No. III. 

We have been impatient to submit this air. We are ourselves answerable for promul- 
gating a theory in which we do not concur. In healing the publication of Edward 
Bunting's last splendid work (in the number we have above referred to) we said thmgs, 
in the ardour of rejoicing, which we had not full time to ponder upon. In nothing do we 
think we fell into greater error than in appearing, with our author, to limit the origin of 
Irish airs to the three sources of the harp— the pipes— and the voice. How could we 
have forgot the violin 9 Bunting's own book in the Vocabulary of Ancient Ibish 
Musical Terms, pp. 32, 33, &c., gives the terms for the violin, &c. No doubt the 
instrument is no less ancient in Ireland than the others. The word used in obsolete 
English^ '* crowd/' means this instrument : thus, in Hudibras, part 1, canto ii.—- 

•* He with the foe began to buckle. 
Vowing to be revenged for breach 
Of crowd and skin upon the stretch ; 
Sole author of all detriment 
He and hU fiddle underwent." 

And again — 

*< His fiddle is your proper purchase, 

"Won in the serrice of the Churches : 

"" And, by yoor doom, nrast be allowed 

To be — or be no more — a crowd,** 

This word was of Celtic origin and imported into English probably from Wales. lu 
Irish the word is Cpuic, cruii, (pronounced somewhat like crooth,) and there is no 
part of the country where the instnnnent has not been one of popular use, " time whereof 
the " memory of man runneth not to the conlrai*y." So we have }^\'^CL\*^ac,Jle(Uff(»ch, a 
fiddler, evidently from Jleasf/, a bow or rod ; and biol, biol, a viol or stringed instrument. 

The Welsh historians agree (see David Powell's History of Cambria, translated by 
Lloyd, edit. 1«'584 ; Jones's Reliques of the Welsh Bai'ds ; Selden's notes on Drayton's 
Polyolbion ; Preface to Bunting's second work, (1809) pp. 5 and 23,) that the "crowth," 
as well as the harp, came to Wales out of Ireland. The " erowtk** used in Wales was 
twenty-one and a-holf inches long ; nine and a-half inches at' bottom, tapering to eight ; 
its finger-board ten inches long; it was more extensive than the violin, (to which tlio 
Celtic emit was parent,) and capable of great perfection ; its strings were six ; the two 
lower were often struck with the thumb of the left hand, and served as a bass to the notes 
sounded with the bow. Among " the twenty-four measures of Welsh music,*' was " tresi 
heli ;" Powell declares that the names of the measures (as of the times and all the instru- 
mental music of Wales,) were derived from the Irish ; and in the Irish we find Cpeipc 
treise, force, and uillean, uillean, elbow. 

The air before us cannot be played by an adept upon the instrument, of even moderate 
skill, who will not at once perceive that it must have grown into being upon the very 
strings of the violin. Its lie under the fingen-**it8 efiects by $hiJHng-^ts out^speakmf 
by the cpen imXm— all demonstrate its origin. 



ii-^ih 



Which way did she ^o 




eras 



ClA AN BKALACH A DRACHAlpH il« 
SLOW. ll««lz. Metrom. ^« tfO. 

r f"^| i N U I J I I , I I' i 

- - - "Iketho timid Dot* • w#r« k«» 



P Sh« mil slid ai the flnnime* Air, I.ik 



eras 




TT-if—^hlbhb^ ^ 




•>•■> 



t M,. I I , MP- Cf j l ^. I ' l-lL^ pi 

Oh my CMldJ Oh ni>' Child! ST ir«ntle, poi* and fafr.Thy 



heart \%ou Id bfeak to hear thy Mothei'i lifl^hi. 'Ulien I taw thee imile 




I was /clad 9 But my hoan of joy a«lat are o^er^ She la tceii9y Shell 




/A i 9 r.'frM'rrTT i f i r i' h ^^ 




/fone. And this arhinic heart it aad. Ifor I ihall nerer.neTer lee her more. 




15. WEARING OrTHE.GRKKN? 




FaT««weU! for I nnit l«aT« thee^ in^ own, 1117 iiatiT« shore, And 




^m 



r 







f 




•fr-r-f c t IE' f I J- 1;» J^ JM- ij 




dooind in fo«r«ifcn lands to dwolly may no^Tor ise thee noroj For 




^ 



f 



K 



■ L ^ ■< & i^ 



? 



t * f * i 



^3 



g 




f 



i 



^ 



s. 




t 




^^ 




Lairty oar Tyrant LairsyhaTo sald^ that leat mnat roll be.twoon Old 




[_' . _/ LiirT 




I r f I'l i \' mJ'. r r m i^^ 



K-^rln and hor faithful Sonsytfaat lo to to wear the Green. Oh.we 



^m 



,1 I II I 




^ 



1 



^^ 



r 






Wk«reio«^er tli« Ks.ile liT«»,T1io^ Oetam roll b«««tw««B) Thy 



77 ^ ^ ^^^ ^ 



ub? 



f n j J ,-i 





I 



1 



^-i» C 1 c ^ ^ 






t^; ""^ 





KPIRITKD. KmI 



FOR THK VIOLIN. 

I ^« -^- Name Unknown. 




j.^^-^'-^-'^W' 



^i^ lj^N|rT7i I^Mrrnl 



' _ r _ ' '-C- 




H^^ 1 ^ J | , I i J ffi pm^ 




I f I II ii, ' f-r- tnr-\ 




Janaary 1841 



I 



THE CITIZEN; 



A MONTHLY JOURNAL 



m politte0> %iUicHtnttf antf ^it« 



No. XVI. 



FEBRUARY, 1841. 



Vot. III. 



INSECURITY OF LIFE AND PROPERTY IN IRELAND. 



'* I HAT! RIAID DITIHBf AmUl TIAT NOTHINO IS lO LIKBLY TO DBAW DOWN TBNOBAKOB rtOM ■■ATlKf AS 
VMITIBIAL OPPBBMION} AND BOW FAR TBI! M ATTSB MAY CONCBBN TBBM , TBBIB WOBtBlfV TBB LAHDLOBVt ABB AT 



rOlL LBWUBB TO CONSIDBI/'— SWIFT. 



Thb united parliament is about to meet. 
Contending parties are busily accoutreing 
for the fray. Each shaft is freshly dipt in 
hate, and every shield is burnished bright 
anew. Power — the great hereditary cause 
of feud-— Hiirides, as it has time immemorial 
done, the leading combatants. Meaner mo- 
tives stimulate their partizans of every 
degree. How this campaign shall differ 
from its forty predecessors, — reckoning from 
^e time, when the three aristocracies of these 
three isles agreed with one another to make 
joint-stock work of legisktion, — or to what 
new themes of war, the running accompani- 
ment of " earnest requests to attend," will 
be adapted,— time alone can tell. The bufib 
and bravura will doubtless be sustained by 
the accustomed skill of a Sinclair and a 
Stanley ; and the expectations of those, who 
arc used to listen to the plaintive and un- 
utterably mournful airs ot an Inglis or a 
Winchelsea, may hope in confidence for a 
resumption of their gratification. For 
'*fanta$is*' and paganinic strains mingling 
all varieties of modulation, and rapidly ob- 
literating, by unlooked-for whimsies, the me- 
mory of that which went before, who shall 
aspire to rival the illustrious Lord Harry 
Harlequin ? And for the admirers of that 
subtle art, whose magic is to keep up a suc- 
cession of &lse concords, and where the 
listener aspects the bold and honeat tone 

you III. vOf uru 



(musicians term the fiM^), to for ever baulk 
this hope, and reiterate the flat and fearing 
tone (musicians call the minor key), most 
touchingly expressive of the feelings of men 
doomed long to figure in a minority, who 
shall emulate the master touch of Peel P 
Meanwhile their opponents, once so eloquent 
and promiseful, threaten to sing dumb, unless, 
perhaps, upon some ill^ppreciated fordgn 
theme, whereon, for aught we know, their 
execution may be most prodigious ; but as 
for any familiar sulject, there seems as little 
chance of aught exhilarating or vigorous 
firom them, as there is of inspiriting notes 
from the costliest and best-gilt set of organ- 
pipes that were ever ranged in row, when 
there is no wind in the bellows. 

All which, could we look on and listen 
unconcernedly, were amusing and farcical 
enough. But we hare no heart to be merry, 
even when we cannot help, now and then, 
laughing at the elaborate mummery that we 
have seen annually enacted, by the motley 
multitude who, about this season of the year, 
take to the expensive amusement of wearing 
the masks, and stumbling through the parts 
of legislators. We are rather tired of open- 
ing those huge parcels which are remitted to 
us at the end of each session (labelled^— ^ 
" acts," and thereby pretendmg to disclose 
some thing or things ikms,) and of finding, 
after weary rummagmg Arough the entire 



68 



INSEGTTMTT OF LIFE AND FBOPERTY. 



bundle, noUimg substantial done, or balf 
done, or for all chat appears in the wrappings 
or foldings, even so much asattemptea to be 
done. And we are sick and weary of seeing 
the few earnest men that aire, in reality, dis- 
posed to turn their office of representatives 
to some good account for their country, 
doomed to strive in vain. 

So long as this elegant amusement of 
act-of-parhament-making was kept up,merely 
as a relaxation or gentle exercise for the no- 
bility and gontEy, the dv-nothing mode of 
work was no great harm ; indeed, all things 
considered, it may be concluded that the less 
such worthies did, the better. But after the 
Relief Bill and the Reform Act had solemnly 
declared, each in its own, but both in the 
most emphatic way, that the people are the 
only source of legitimate power, we naturally 
hoped that the reign ot fiddle faddle was 
over ; that the imdressed wounds of centuries 
would be tended ; that an end was begun of 
iniquities, that had> fior so many generations 
in Ireland, sat enthroned npon the fraud-and- 
ibice*proj[^)ed lia— that thw fiiir land, which 
God bad given us, waa not ours to own or to 
enjoy, but the rightful heritage of an anti- 
national, irresponsible, aristocracy, self-in- 
Tested with boundless power. 

We did expect mudi»-we had a right to 
egqpect much^for much was due to us. 
It is an insolent mockery to say, that the 
people of Ireland should be content with the 
pretended concessions of religious liberty, 
or the tsn-pound franchise (which latter was 
hardly given 'till it was judicially rendered, 
to a great extent, vdd). These were no 
concessions, made by repentant wrong, to an 
ii\iured people. They were terms— reluctant, 
tflivdy, and extorted terms, wrung from the 
fears of our masters; and that man is a 
blockhead, or a spy, who dares to palter with 
the nation's wants and miseries, by soimdmg 
the dishonest chime of great concessions in 
our ears. Again and again, we say, conces- 
rions there have as yet been none. Eman- 
cipaftkm and Reform are two great pledges 
unredeemed. The firuit of them is still to 
come ; for what did their advocates promise 
to the body of the people as their result 
when they should be obtioned, but equal and 
just laiws, and the restoration of long lost 
peace, fineedom, and security. 'Twas put, as 
it were a bar^^, between the peq>le and 
thw keeners. Crime and tyranny are mu- 
tual child and parent Destroy the one, and 
you deatiOT the other. I^t tranquillity be 
the price m fiDsedom, — ^let the rights of pro- 
perw be respeeted^ and its duties will be 
peKMOMd m a better Sjpnt As earnests of 



these good intentions, the relief bill, and the 
ten-pound franchise, were proposed ; as ul- 
timate objects, they were comparatively 
worthless, for statutes are, at best, but a pile 
of dead words, whereinto, if the animating 
spirit enternot^ they remain inefficacious, save 
as a monument of popular disappointment, 
and senatorial insincerity. 

Was not this put bitterly to the proof in 
our case ? Religious equality was proclaim- 
ed in 1829, yet the old monopoly of the 
public service was fraudulently, maintained 
for six years after ; and not until the fear of 
a Tory resumption of power wasunmistake- 
ably before their eyes in 1835, could the 
Whigs of England be roused to the aban- 
donment of the anti-catholic policy of their 
predecessors. Parliamentary reform was 
decreed for Ireland in 1833, and the imme- 
diate consequence which had in Scotland and 
England followed from it — corporate reform 
— was withheld for seven years ; and iu the 
end it has been meagrely granted, and with 
manifold unjust and dishonest drawbacks. 

Abeve all^ peace and security for our lives, 
liberties, and properties, was a thousand times 
declared to be the great end oi these much- 
promising changes. Political inequality, 
and political excitement, had led, it was said, 
to turbulence ; and turbulence was made the 
pretext for distrust on the part of the go- 
vernment, and their conlanuance of Orange 
yeomanry and police. Another way of govern- 
ing was to be tried. The confidence of the 
people was no longer to be a bar to office ; 
the wishes of the people were to be the 
guiding stars of legislation ; the principle of 
self-rule was to be acknowledged, and it» 
developement was to be worked out under 
a United legislature, which pledged itself to 
the common sovereign of the two kingdoms, 
to do for Ireland idl that an Irish parlia- 
ment could do. Thus, if self-rule of one 
kind was denied, self-rule of another was to 
be secured ; and this concession, as it was 
called, amounted just to this, that the 
people should not be treated as aliens in 
their own knd, that they should be protected 
by the imperiid senate and administratiott, 
mom local power, extortion and misrule. 

The condition upon which this vast con- 
cession of leave to live a quiet life in our 
own country was accorded us, was, that 
crime and agrarian combination should cease. 
We have kept our half of the bargain ; 
never before was there so little violence; 
never so much forbearance under multiplied 
provocations; never so great a disposition 
evinced, even by those districts hitherto rent 
by social waxnre, to wait peaceably the 



nmECimiTT of life Am) frofebtt. 



69 



amendment of the law^ and its improyed 
administratioii, instead of resorting to the 
onco too ordinaiy resource of wild and law- 
less vengeance* "With one or two memora- 
ble, because isolated exceptions, whose ru- 
mour fell upon the unaccustomed ear, like 
the last thunders of the subsiding storm; 
public tranquillity has not, during late years, 
been roused from its dream of increased and 
increasing security. Would that the time 
had been improved to better purpose, by 
our rulers, — that so great an opportunity — 
(we say not of settling, but ot evincing a 
capacity for, and a desire of settling,) the 
great social questions that have for centuries 
been working up the minds of men to he- 
reditary fuiT and despair, had not been suf- 
fered by the imperial legislature to pass 
away. 

But such has been our fate. The pos- 
session of land, and the laws relative to its 
tenure, — all the fraud of absenteeism, and all 
the iniquity of the ruinous ejectment sys- 
tem, as it is carried on under the perverted 
forms of law, — all that eats like a canker 
into the national frame, — all that • lies, a 
moral, social, and political load on the popu- 
lar heart, — has been left untouched and mi- 
alleviated, — ^has never been so much as en- 
quired into, by the united wisdom of the 
Lords and Commons in parliament assem- 
bled. And yet, we do affirm, that never at 
any time in the history of Ireland, was the 
duty and policy of legislative interposition 
so necessary for the safety of the people, 
and for the maintenance of public order. 
Public order still reigns, thank God ; long, 
long, may its authority subsist unbroken. 
Without It, improvement is a chimera, trade 
a cheat, science a fugitive, art a beggar, 
country a once beauteous garden trodden 
down mto an aceldama. And they — call 
themselves by what conservative name they 
will — they are the anarchists, the revolu- 
tiomsts, the destroyers, who abet and foster 
the continuance of that aristocratic tyranny, 
which leaves the mass of the people insecure 
in their properties and lives. 

" Insecurity of life and property in Ire- 
land" has hitherto been appropriated as a 
charge by the enemies of our country. At 
the begiiming of each succeeding session, 
we have been told "life and proper^ in 
Ireland are insecure," and that were enquiry 
granted, they could be clearly shown to be 
so. It high is time to put an end to the 
hypocritic cry, by declaring as we now do, 
in a far diflerent sense from that in which 
our libellers use the phrase, that property 
and existence itself are insecure in Ireland. 



We make the charge to serve no interest 
of any petty faction, nor to hurt the official 
character of a well intention ed administra- 
tion ; but in the name and for the sake of 
the trampled and insulted thousands, who are 
left defenceless at the mercy of the most 
unsparing, unpitying, and widespread com- 
bination, that ever yet was formed against 
the liberties and properties of a people. 

We call loudly and earnestly upon Par^ 
liament for enquiry into the state of the 
coimtry, and especially into the maimer 
in which its peace is menaced, and its pros- 
peri^ retarded, by the perversion of the laws 
of landlord and tenant, as they at present 
stand. We emphatically assert that life 
and property neither are, nor can be made 
secure, until some strong and effectual check 
is put, not upon the rights, but upon the 
wrongs of property. It is no longer the 
few who are insecure ; it is the many, — the 
industrious, the resident, the moral, the 
million-numbering people. The combination 
which menaces, — aye, and is fearfully fast 
undermining all the foundations of law and 
order in the state, is no longer that of the 
shebeen house, or the ribbon lodge, but is 
one concocted in high places, and which 
holds its festivals with insolent publicity. 
Land, the great, and unhappily, the only 
means of livelihood to seven-eighths of the 
Irish people, — land is the object of the new 
— (as it used to be of the old) — agrarian 
outrages ; but the difference between &e two 
species of combination is immeasurable. 
Agrarian disturbance was formerly the offence 
of the poor. In the days of the Whiteboy, 
Rockite, and Terry Alt associations, the 
provocations were often great; but they 
were local, and generally personal. A few 
bad men, in a particular county, strove to 
turn the screw of extortion tighter than had 
been the custom there ; and their lands were 
ploughed up, or their cattle maimed, or 
their drivers injured; and then the law, 
blind to the thousand exasperating causes, 
was invoked ; disturbance was repressed for 
the time ; and when a sufficient number of 
the peasantry were hanged — (it mattered 
little whether they were the guilty parties or 
not, to say nothing of the sort of evidence 
they were convicted on) — life and property 
were pronounced once more secure ; ana bad 
landlords might distrain and extort for the 
next seven years, in peace and comfort to 
themselves and bailiffs. But the entire sys- 
tem of things is now altered. For their 
own purposes the aristocracy of those days 
desired to have a numerous tenantry. The 
poor man might be oppressed, might be ca- 

2f 



70 



INSECURITY OF LIFE AND PROPERTY. 



priciously dealt with — ^inight be stung by in- 
dividual tyranny into mad and vain resolves, 
forgetful of the odds af2:ainst him, and that no 
revenge, however terrible or guilty, he could 
take, would perceptibly modify the general 
evil. But this conviction, which improved 
habits of life and the spread of education 
have latterly done so much to confirm, with- 
held many an injured man from violence in 
the worst of times; and the comparative 
facilities existing then for obtaining a new 
holdhig, when a man was driven from his 
ancient home, turned away the ^Tath of the 
outcast, and gave him an alternative to 
think of. That too was something; but 
that is now fast disappearing, and iu many 
cases it is already wholly gone. An arro- 
gant and overbearing fraction of the com- 
munity, who assume to themselves the title 
of lords of the soil, have reduced their old 
caprice to regular system. They do things 
now by rule, and upon no fickle or mercy- 
giving principle. They ai'e educated and 
enlightened oppressors now, — have learned 
]M)litical economy, or pretend to have, — 
and are covenanted and agreed together 
among themselves, to clear, that is to de- 
populate the land. If a tenant votes against 
his owner's wishes, he must take the conse- 
quences — a ditch for a bed, and begging for 
a livelihood. If his offence be tlie wor- 
ship of his fathers God, the proprietor 
of nis conscience believes — hdieves I — it to 
be his duty to drive from the place of his 
early dwelling and matured aflection, — 
from the only spot on earth whero he 
has a certain means of life, the old tenant 
of the estate, and 1o supplant him with im- 
ported strangers of the favoured creed. 
There is a still worse crime in these wise, 
humane, and lordly men's estimation — that 
of being a small holder. The poor man is an 
offence unto them ; his existence is intoler- 
able in their sight ; God hath said the poor 
shall never cease out of the land ; but cer- 
tain landlords of Ireland say they shall. 

Said we not well that life and property 
was fast becoming insecure in Ireland p 

But the proof — the proof, cries some apo- 
logist of peculiar ignorance on the other side 
of the Channel, or of peculiar effrontery on 
this side. Ah, you shall have it till you 
rue the hour you asked for it. We are 
not about to darken the bad fame of this man 
or the other; we have no individual injuries 
to wreak, no personal anger to give vent to. 
Our object is a public and a national one, 
— to tell, as a faithful tribune of the people, 
what they are suffering, not here or there, 
on Lord Harass em *s estate^ or Mr. Evic- 



tion's property ; but to hold up to view the 
system as it pervades a large portion of the 
land, torturing and exacting, trampling and 
decimating the unprotected people ; and thus 
to arouse the constitutional might of the as- 
sailed and too long sufiTering many, to uni- 
ted exertion for a thorough reformation of 
the laws of land. 

A mass of evidence, of information, and of 
&cts lies at this moment before us ; how shall 
we select from them, or arrange them? How 
shall we give the tithe of them within rea- 
sonable space ? We cannot ; it must suffice 
to take them as they come in order of time, 
reserving for recurring opportunities, which 
we shall not fail to find, the continuation of 
our melancholy narrative. 

There exist no materials for any thing 
like an adequate summaiy of the details of 
dispossession, in any single county. Returns 
of the number of ejectments sued out in the 
superior courts, during a certain period, by 
the landlords of a few of the most disturbed 
districts, were made by order of the goyem- 
ment, and used by Lord Morpeth in the de- 
bates on the state of crime in Ireland, which 
took place in the course of last session. 

But these were far, infinitely far short of 
exhibiting in their true extent, the fearful 
workings of the system. Under the recent 
statutes, giving extended jurisdiction to the 
Assistant Barrister's court, ejectments may 
be brought at Quarter Sessions against all 
persons accused of "overholding,*' as tlie le- 
gal phrase hath it, if the rent does not exceed 
£50 a year. Every body knows that within 
this limit fall three fourths of the tenantry of 
the kingdom. When therefore we are told 
the number of ejectments in the superior 
courts, we are told practically nothing of 
what is really going on throughout the coun- 
try, in this the most important matter that 
the country can be informed about. The 
law business of the people is done at 
Quarter Sessions, and not in the Four Courts, 
Dublin ; we know that the extent of law pro- 
ceedings in the latter relative to land and its 
tenure, is already too great for the peace of 
the country; but great though they be, they 
are as cypher, compared with those which 
take place in the local tribunals. 

Here then we pause to ask, what is the 
reason that a liberal government, professedly 
existing on the popular breath, and law- 
officered by men well acquainted with this 
vital truth of society and its fate in Ireland, 
*— what is the reason that now six years have 
been suffered to roll ignorantly by, without 
any efficient means being taken to rip open 
and lay bare this mystery of misery ? Or if 



IN&ECUAITY OP LiPfi AI^D fttOPERTY. 



71 



the adiAinisiration have neither the energy nor 
the will to do this daty to our people — to do 
this, which it were no mighty or expensive 
hoon to grant, hat literally nothing heyond 
the doing of an easy act of common justice 
towards us — ^why is it that parliament is not 
called upon \>y some of our independent 
members for Ireland, to institute a bold and 
searching inquiry into the subject P This is 
the kernel of Irish policy ; and all the rest, 
till this be come at, is but scraping and rind- 
ing of the shell. This is the previous ques- 
tion to Lord Stanley s Bill. For until this 
matter of the uumutual, unreciprocal, and 
unequal relation of landlord and tenant be 
ascertained, as the first step to a thorough 
change of their respective positions, and until 
that change be set about and perfected, fran- 
chise and registration disquisitions are little 
better than a stupid playing of the old game 
of political blindman s-buff. As to the mere 
statistical facts, any member of the House of 
Commons could obtain for asking for it, a 
return of the number of civil bill ejectm«its, 
brought in each county in Ireland, during 
the last half dozen years; and it is hardly too 
much to say, that whoever would take the 
trouble of procuring such a return, would 
render his constituents and his coimtry pie- 
eminent service. 

Meanwhile let us glance at a few specimens 
of the working of agrarian combination as it is 
carried on by a portion of the aristocracy. 
Wo shall omit mentioning names in the fol- 
lowing recitals, for a very plain and suffi- 
cient reason. Our object is not to gratify 
local feelings of resentment or indignation ; 
which, however just and natural, are wholly 
vain for any purposes of general or perma- 
nent remedy, and rather tend to absorb and 
waste the energy of each district in passion- 
ate utterance of its peculiar wrongs, than 
lead it to seek the sympathy and coopera- 
tion of each other equally suffering dis- 
trict, that all may take united measures of 
mutual help and aid. For the people's 
sake, we mourn over every ebullitiou of vio- 
lence, whose echo we are forced to hear. 

In one of the comities of Leinster, there 
were no fewer than one hundred and ninety- 
fivo ejectments brought in the superior 
courts between 1833 and 1838. We infer, 
not only from the grounds already stated, 
but also from the result of a good deal of 
enquiry we have made in various counties 
upon the subject, that the number of eject- 
ments brought in the quarter sessions courts 
by civil bill, are, at the lowest calculations, 
four times as numerous as those sued forth 
of 'the superior tribunals. Thuii, then, we 



are presented with the fearful spectacle of 
nearly one thousand families menaced with 
the loss of that, by whose undisturbed pos- 
session alone they can feel the means of ex- 
istence secure. But let us look a little 
closer at the picture. The county whereof 
we are speaking now, is one of compara- 
tively small dimensions. Its population does 
not exceed 150,000, a number which is usu- 
ally estimated as composing 28,000 famih'es. 
And what have we then P One family out of 
evety twenty -eight threatened in the brief 
space of half a dozen years with extirpation. 
Each of these families is necessarily known 
to, and connected with many others. The 
sympathy of friendship — of neighbourhood, 
•—of relationship, is strong in Uie hearts of 
our countrymen. Such feelings may be 
contrary to landlord-made law — ^may be at 
variance with the tranquil decimation or en- 
slaving of a people : what business have the 
people with sympathies for the aggrieved, or 
indignation at vnrongp their duty in this 
world is to drudge, to emigrate, and die ;— -to 
be kept at home for domestic purposes, 
while faggots are worth forty shillings a 
year,—- or to be exported like swine, and 
" other beasts," when votes become no longer 
marketable. " Beasts" is no phrase of ours, 
—not even in the bitterness of our scorn and 
ridicule of the system we arraign, would we 
dare to trifle so far with the honour of our 
race, or so forget the homage which we owe 
to the good and wise Creator of our race, as 
to be guilty of that impious nickname. But 
all decency is laid by when the madness of 
social tyranny begins, and reason and ex- 
postulation are waste of time. It is power 
and impunity which make oppression reck- 
less and talkative ; let us pardon and for- 
get the individual fool ; but let the epithet 
and the applause it won, as expressive of the 
spirit that actuates the system, be remem- 
bered and reiterated until that system be put 
an end to for ever. 

Perhaps it will be said that threats are 
not deeds, and that however unhappy the 
menace of ejectment may render a large 
portion of the community, it is only an as- 
sertion of proprietory rights, and is not to 
be taken as an index to actual dispossession ; 
in other words, service of ejectments upon 
all the tenants of a townland is nothing 
more than the cracking of the driver's whip 
in a slave plantation ; is it indeed P 

Within the confines of the county we 
have been adverting to, there stood not very 
long ago a considerable village, wherein 
between forty and fifty families had their 
home. Some of them were poor, and pro- 



72 



m^BCUBITt OF UFE AND PBOPSBTT. 



bably enjoyed as sparingly the comforts of 
life as commonly falls to the Irish peasant's 
lot But many of them also were in com- 
fortable circumstances^ living in houses built 
of 8tone> and bringing up ^eir children, to 
use their own phrase^ with notions of de- 
cency. Their lathers had dwelt around the 
same spot for many generations ; and they 
were instinctively fond of the old place. 
That once thriving and populous hamlet ex- 
ists no more. Every family therein was, 
by the absolute and resistless decree of one 
man, driven from their homes, and none 
shall ever light a fire upon these hearths 
again. With the exception of one house 
and the barrack of the constabulary, not 
a single dwelling was left standing. Where 
yesterday there was the hum of toil, the light 
laugh of childhood, and the quiet talk of age, 
there is silence now ; desolation reigns ; the 
inhabitants are gone, and the place thereof 
knoweth them no more. At the lowest cal- 
culation two hundred human beings were 
thus driven into exile, or compelled to seek 
a prowling livelihood by mendicancy in their 
native land. It only remains to be added, 
that no pretence of insolvency was made as 
the reason of their arbitrary dispossession. 

In another and somewhat larger county of 
the same province, the number of ejectments 
issued during the same period, namely from 
1833 to 1838, in the superior courts alone, 
considerably exceeded 200 ; and estimating 
the civil bill proceedings of the same kind 
by thepn^rtion already noticed, we have at 
the least as numerous a class of sufferers 
here as in that above mentioned. By way 
^ of illustration of the abuses in detail, which 
the existmg laws of tenantiy give room for, 
we shall mention a case that occurred in the 
county in question within the last three years. 
Three respectable small farmers had held 
under a middle man for very many years ; 
but the latter, having become improvident, fell 
into arrear and was justly evicted. The sub- 
tenants came thenceforth to hold directly 
from the owner in fee, and upon the occasion 
of their being for the first time recognized as 
tenants by him, they were distinctly told that 
they should get new leases if they maintained 
theur good character, and improved their 
holdings. This was sworn to upon the trial 
which subsequently took place, and not con- 
troverted; it was likewise proved incontestably 
that they had improved, and had built com- 
fortable houses on their little farms, and no 
allegation whatsoever was made of tiieir mis- 
conduct in any respect. But the landlord 
had formed the resolution in his own wise 
head tbtt their ianns needed c(nmlidaH9n, 



as the cant is ; and though they had relied 
upon the promise of leases, and had paid up 
the rent to the day, he had the power to evict 
them as yearly tenants by a mere notice to 
quit, notwithstanding the prescriptive title 
that upwards of twenty years' possession had 
morally given them. 

Now we have selected this case as one 
devoid of any peculiar circumstances of 
political or religious oppression, because we 
Know it to be a (ak and admitted sample of 
the operation of the existing law, universally 
throughout the kingdom. And on this we 
take our stand and say, — ^here is the root of 
that insecurity that inevitably tends to de- 
moralize, degrade, and impoverish the na- 
tion. It signifies not one farthing, whether 
the same law acting, as in England, upon a 
social condition wholly and utterly difierent, 
b found to work no similar evil. The 
variety of employments which exists in 
England, renders it impossible for landlords 
to trifle with the good humour of their tenan* 
try. One half the population of England 
are engaged in other pursuits than agricul- 
ture ; agriculture with four-fifths of our 
population is the only means of existence. 
If a tenant is aggrieved in England, he 
throws up his holding, and it lies, perhaps, 
for years unoccupied, — the landlord is taught 
a lesson for life,— -and the rest of his tenants 
live on and improve securely. So far from 
the possession of leases being thought in- 
dispensable by the tenant, there are numerous 
districts in England where they are practi* 
cally unknown. And thus it happens, firom 
the disparity of circumstances, tiiat the lair 
which in lawyer's lingo sounds the same 
there and with us, works all \he difiference, in 
practice, of social peace and social war,-— 
of personal liberty and prsedial thraldom. 

As to the abstract or intrinsic righteooa- 
ness of the English law itself, we have nei- 
ther time nor patience to do more than say, 
that in every such matter, whose excelloice 
or evil consists solely in its applicability to 
the wants it is applied to, the pretence of 
abstract justice is nothing more nor less 
than abstract fudge. The land laws of Eng- 
land may work well in England for aught we 
know ; and if they do. Heaven forbid that 
we should be suspected of having the re- 
motest wish to see them altered : we take it 
for granted that our shrewd and thrifty 
neighbours understand what is good for them, 
better than any other set of men on tiie fieice 
of the earth ever did or ever will compre- 
hend it. But so in like manner do we ; and 
we are not, therefore, to be baffled, when we 
demand a change that the experience of 



isaacDBmr op life and pbopimtt. 



78 



generations has proved so indispensible to 
our safety and welfare, — by the pert quip of 
Counsellor Hungry, or the assimilating 
chatter of Mrs. Expectant. 

But we pass on to a third illustxatiou of 
the system. There is a certam property in 
the fine county of which we are now about 
to speak, which never has belonged to a 
bigoted or politically unpopular family. 
About &re and twenty years ago the owner 
of it desired to create, as it was called, an 
interest in the county, with a view to the 
representation. Accordingly he grantednearly 
300 forty-shilling fireeholds, which, as the 
district was then populous, was an easy mat- 
ter to do. Soon afterwards, however, he 
succeeded in obtaining the object of his am- 
bition elsewhere, and from that hour this 
liberal, for he was on the hustings and in the 
house of Commons an undoubted liberal, 
began the work of clearance. Notices to 
quit, and ejectments for rent and title, were 
kept up without mercy or mteimission, 'till 
no vestige remained of the once thronging 
hill-side and valley. A whole townland is 
engrossed by one man now ; and there are idiots 
who will tell you that the change of a hu- 
man population into an inhabitancy of oxen 
and sheep, is an evidence of giant^sdnde 
pro«)erity I 

Tne melancholy consequence of the £fttal 
system in this particular instance, was the or- 
ganization of lawless and jdesperate bands, 
who kept the entire neighbourhood in awe, 
up to no veiy dbtant period. They threat- 
ened vengeance upon any who should take the 
vacant land; and it is a memorable and in- 
stmctive fact, that one considerable tract lay 
so long tenantless on this account, that it 
acquired and bora the name for many years 
of " the waste land." But this was in times 
gone by, it may be said ; what of all this to 
the purpose now ? Alas, there are too many 
of the landlords of Ireland whom no expe* 
xience seems to have any effect upon. In 
the principal town of this very county, not 
three months ago, we happen to know that a 
gentleman was unable lo get bills of side 
printed for several days, because, as the 
workmen stated in excuse, they were eng^ed 
in manu&cturing " Notices to Quit, for 
different gentlemen." 

We pass on to another county, still keep- 
ing within Leinster, beyond whose limits we 
perceive that time and space will not suffer 
us to travel on the present occasion. Our 
yearnings after the fate and sympathy of the 
South, the West, and the North, cannot in the 
same hotir be exemplified ; but we do not 
mean to suffer this great subject, which here- 



after we shall name the ** Insecnri^ of 4ie 
People," to rest in silenee until we shall see 
active and earnest measures taken, or prac- 
tically, at least, begun fox the permanent 
protection that we stand in need of; and as 
the knowledge of the whole bitter tru^ is 
the first step tobetakeninthe work of Land 
Reform, as it is in eveiy similar work of Teal 
reformation, we purpose to oontinuey m fu- 
ture numbers, our examples and illustratioiis 
of the state of mopeaciy and its tenure in 
Ulster, Connaugnt, and Munster. 

Meanwhile, a few words as to other 
Leinster counties. In one of the most pop- 
ulous of them, the number of ejectments 
served under the auliiority of the superior 
courts, in the six years from 1833 to 1838, 
both inclusive, was only 170, while in another 
adjacent thereto, of yet larger dimennons, the 
corresponding proportion was kept up daring 
the same interval to a still greater amount. 
But the commnmty who have sufoed most, 
taking into considmtion thek fewness, com- 
pavastively peaking, axe those who dwdl in 
one of Uie spots which Provideoee would 
seem to have most «pecially intended for the 
happiness and comfort of man. The soil 
is more than Irish in its ferdlity ; and along 
its harden pour the deep and affluent tides 
of inland navigation* But a few men, giftad 
with irresponsible social power, and carried 
insanely away by the dictates of prcgudioe 
and passi<m, ana unrestrained by the advice 
as unreproved by the good example of their 
brethren aristocrats^ who in this and other 
afflicted countries seem appointed, like tke 
prophet of old» to stand between the doomed 
and the. living, that the plague oi depopiilB- 
tion may parSally be stayed,-— these numer- 
ically insignificant, though, by the acddeot 
of birth and the misfortune of monopolising 
land laws, too mighty men, have shaken all 
popular ccmfidence in proper^ and its tenun, 
and will, if they be not timelv hinderad, 
bring socie^, in that betntifiil and once 
mirthful district, to anardiy and ruin. The 
number of ejectments there, dming tlM pe- 
riod already named, was, m the superior 
courts, above two hundredy<— a fearful nnsiH 
ber, bearing in miad the gross popuktim. 
At what aoaeunl ^all we Tentnns to pw- 
sume the notices to quit, and ejectments 
under £50 rent, brought, in Uie same 
mournful period, under the local jurisdic- 
tions P Nor are we at liberty to believe that 
at the end of that period any cessation or 
respite was permitted to society, wherein it 
might forget its wrongs and recover its lost 
patience. Within the last two years, on a 
single property in that county, thirty fami* 



74 



INSECUBITT OF LIFE AND PBOPERTT. 



lies were turned out of their holdings on the 
same day, and their houses levelled with 
the ground. The scene, as graphically de- 
scribed by an eye-witness, we shall not here 
repeat. It were utterly impossible to write 
it, or to read it, without feelings which we 
fear need no art or eloquence to be kept 
alive among our countrymen; and such 
feelings centred, as in details like those we 
have now in view they must needs be, upon 
the heads of one or two individuals, we can- 
not think either useful or in any way de- 
sirable. Again we repeat, the system, as a 
system, is the thing, and tlie oi^y thing to 
he effectually assailed. The law, which 
gives first a monopoly of the land to a few, 
and then invests them with irresponsible 
and illimitable powers, makes men oppres- 
sors as necessarily and as inevitably, as 
moral effect follows moral cause. It is not 
the peculiar viciousness of the men. Are 
not xheae very men, in other respects, and 
in all the unpoisoned relations of society, 
honourable, upright, and humane P All of 
them may not be so, but the majority un- 
doubtedly are. Why P because they are 
not there placed in a fidse position hy the 
laws of the land. 

Fellow countrymen ! think well and deep- 
ly on these things. Fellow countrymen ! 
with you, and you alone, rests your own 
peaceable and hlood-guiltless emancipation 
nrom this terrible oppression, — one which in 
nought, that is truly good or worthy, hene- 
fits your m>pre8sors, but makes you ** poor 
indeed." It is for you to change, by the 
calm force of irresistible opinion, the evil 
parts of long neglected, long unreformed 
laws. But oh ! think as a great and up- 
risen people, of the attitude and demeanour 
that befits you. 

By all the sufferings ye have endured 
mth noble fortitude,— by all the steadfast- 
ness wherewith ye have hoped even against 
hope, and against accumulated provocations 
to despair, — by the name and lineage we 
bear in common,— -by all we have in unison 
as Irishmen, — by every impulse of pride 
and grief, and gloiy, we do adjure ye, to lay 
aside the ineffectual resort of personal re- 
venge, and to unite in firm and resolute de- ^ 



mand of those great changes in the relation 
of landlord and tenant as established by 
law, that the growth of civilization every 
where is already developing, but which our 
condition peculiarly requires. If the- people 
of England are indifferent to such wings, 
what is that us P We know what we want, 
and what we want we are grown too many 
not to have for asking, if we only have the 
sense to ask it in a proper tone. 

Remember *82 ! For fifty years our fa- 
thers had been seeking for dieir rights, and 
whispering about their rights, and writing 

f pamphlets, or reading the most conclusive 
ogical proof that they were entitled to have 
their rights, and all the usual palaver of po- 
litical poltroonery; and all that time they 
got nothing but kicks and curses, which 
they in some measure deserved. At length 
it came into their heads to say to one ano- 
ther, — ^'^ maybe it were well to try what a dif- 
ferent tone would do ; suppose we agree to 
forget our old differences of creed and fac- 
tion ; suppose we put an end to whiteboy- 
ism by night, and logical remonstrances by 
day, and folding our arms constitutionally, 
announce to our oppressors that we have 
made up our minds as to what we are en- 
titled to, and that we intend to have it." It 
was said, and it was done. '82 was won 
without a blow. A calm and united people 
is the most horrible vision misgovemment 
ever saw. It takes the very breath from it; 
its whole witchery and conjuration is em- 
ployed to dispel its appearance; why — 
why is it that the cunning of perverse en- 
chantment still prevails to shut out fixim us 
the only revelation of popular power, hap- 
piness, and prosperity ^ 

Remember also '29 I Then, for the se- 
cond time in our history, was the might and 
majesty of the nation made known, peace- 
ably, triumphantly, in vindication of itsr su- 
preme authority. The men of ^29, like the 
men -of '82, were unanimous and in earnest; 
and their calm determination terror-struck 
the heart of despotism ; and the moral pow- 
er of physical force being timely manifes- 
ted, rescued us from the dread alternative of 
a civil war. 



OUfZOt. 



75 



GUIZOT. 



fVarions drenmstancM have combined of late yean to make M. Oulxot an object of cnrioeHy in 
politict and in literature, perbi^ a good deal beyond his merits as a man of original genius. Nor is 
radi a preference altogether adjust or unreasonable. In the complicated influences of modem 
European existence, every distinguished man plays a two-fold part — as himself a constituent member 
of society, and also as the representatiye of others. Whatever some may think of M. Gnisot's rank 
in the former opacity, no one can deny his importance in the latter, or be blind to the genuine force 
of character, and honesty of purpose, which have won for him the warm support of so many, and the 
onfdgned respect of all. Preyious to forming a judgment for ourseWes of such a man*s life and 
labours, it is desirable to know what his countrymen tUnk of him. We have, therefore, much 
pleasure in presenting to our readers the following sketch, taken from a very clever work, now 
publishing in Paris, entitled — " GalerU det ConiemporaineM IlluMtreM, par tm kamme de rien" which 
we cordially recommend to all our readers. It is very cheap ; and for those who have any skill in 
physiognomy, the illnstrative portraits are still more amusing and instructive than the accompanying 
biographies. — Ed.] 



On the 8th of April, I794,three dajrs after the 
bloody victory of Robespierre over Danton, 
Camille Destnoulins, and the members of 
the ComitS de Clemeriee, the scaffold was 
laised at Nimes for a distinguished lawyer, 
suroected of opposition to the will of the ter- 
rible triumvirate ; and the home of one of 
the most respectable families in the countiy 
was made desolate. A wife, in despair, im- 
plored heaven for strength to bear the stroke 
which made her a widow and her two chil- 
dren orphans. The eldest, hardly seven 
yean old, wore already the serious and me- 
ditative expression of matured reason. Mis- 
fortune is like a hot-bed : those who are 
reared in it grow old before their, time ; this 
child, who knew no childhood, was Fran9ois 
Pierre Guillaume Guizot. 

Bom a Protestant, on the the 4th of Oc- 
tober, 1787, under the rule of an iniquitous 
legislation, which refused to his parents a 
. legal union, to himself a name and a place 
in society, Guizot saw the revolution at one 
blow restore him to his position as a French- 
man, and make him pay for this benefit with 
the blood of his fitther. These circum- 
stances may have given rise to the equal an« 
tipathy of the statesman for democratic go- 
Temments and absolute monarchies. 

After this fatal catastrophe Madame Gui- 
zot quitted the town which contained such 
cmel asflociationSy and retired to Greneva to 
seek consolation among her family, and a 
solid education for her children. Young 
Guizot threw himself into his studies with. 



avidity. Books were his only enjovment, 
and at the end of four years the scholar had 
read, in the originals, Thucvdides and De- 
mosthenes, Cicero and Tacitus, Dante and 
Alfieri, Schiller and Goethe, Gibbon and 
Shakespeare. His two la.st years in college 
were specially devoted to historical and phi- 
losophical studies, the latter of which odered 
to him the most powerful attracuons. His 
mind, gifted by nature with a particular cha- 
racter of logical force exaggerated almost to 
sternness, had full opportunity of being de- 
veloped in the bosom of this little Genevese 
republic, which has preserved to this day 
some of the learned and inflexible physiog- 
nomy of its patron, John Calvin. 

In 1806, after seeing his studies crowned 
with the most brilliant success, Guizot came 
to Paris to attend his terms ; the school of 
law had disappeared in the midst of the re- 
volutionary confusion, and there were some 
private establishments formed then to sup- 
ply the want ; but he was not satisfied with 
what he considered an incomplete course of 
instruction, and resolved on seeking know- 
ledge from books in solitude. Both proud 
and poor, austere and ambitious, the young 
man found himself thrown into a world of 
intrigue, licentiousness, and firivolity. The 
period firom the directory to the empire, like 
all epochs of transition, is of no one charac- 
ter. The social current violently driven 
back by the revolution, had not yet entirely 
regained hs course, and old ideas were only 
beginning to rise again firom the terrible 



76 



OUIZOT. 



shock which had thrown them to the ground. 
Some superior minds were trying to cast in 
a different mould the new society which was 
springing from the ruins of the old ; hut the 
mass of the people^ for a long time intoxica- 
ted with sensual indulgence, only thought of 
enjo3ring the few days of repose which they 
feared would end too soon. Hence this cha- 
racter of general excitement and relaxation of 
manners, which leminds us of the most flou- 
xishing time of the regency. 

The rigid and serious nature of the Ge- 
nevese sdkolar saml him from contagion. 
The first year of his sojourn in Paris was for 
Guizot a year of sorrow and isolation. He 
retired within himself, like every man who 
feels himself possessed of powers without 
having an object on which to exercise them. 
The following year he was attached as precep- 
tor to the house of Mr. Stapfer, ex-minister 
from Switseriand, where he met with a recep- 
tion almost paternal, and sources of philoso- 
phic knowledge to direct and stimulate his in- 
tellectual developement. These new con- 
nexions admittea him to the salon of M. 
Soard, where all the beaux esprits of the 
day used to assemble, and it was theie that 
he saw, for the first time, the woman who 
was to exercise over his destiny so noble 
and so hi^y an influence. 

The circumstance which brought on the 
marriage of Guizot was romantic enough, 
and is very generally known. Mile. Pauhne 
de Meulan, bom of a distinguished fjeonily, 
but ruined by the revolution, was obliged to 
find resources in the excellent education 
which she had acquired in better times, and 
to support her family she entered into the 
hard imd laborious work of writing for the 
public journals. At one time, when en- 
gaged in editing the PuhlicUte, she was at- 
tacked with a serious illness, brought 
on by too much work, and was at once 
dqpnved of her only means of obtaining 
a livelihood. When reduced almost to ex- 
tremities, she received an anonymous letter, 
entreating her to tranquillize her mind, and 
offering to fill her place until she recovered 
her health agun. This letter was accom- 
panied by an article^ the style of w|iich, by a 
refinement of delicacy and tact, was exactly 
similar to her own. Mademoiselle de Meu- 
lan accepted the articloy signed it, and re- 
ceived others regularly until the end of her 
convalescence. Profoundly touched by this 
proceeding, she did not hesitate to speak of 
the adventure openly at the soirees of M. 
Suardt thinking little of the pale, serious 
young man^ who listened to her gravely 
while she was «xpi0Siisg aU sorts of con<^ 



jectures. Entreated, through the means of 
the journal, to make himself known, the ge- 
nerous stranger came at length to receive the 
thanks he so well deserved, and five years 
afterwards Mademoiselle de Meulan became 
Madame Guizot. 

During these five years Guizot occupied 
himself with various literary labours. In 
1809 he published his first work, the " Die- 
<MMMMNr0 </s9 Synenj^mmt" the intiodiiction 
of which, a philosophical essay on dM pe- 
culiar character of the FVench language, re- 
veals already the spirit of method and pre- 
cision which distinguishes him to this day. 
Then came the ''Vist dm iWiM iFWMKtfi'/' 
the translation of Gibbon, enriched widi hk- 
torical notes of the highest interest; and, 
lastly, the translation of a work by Aehfus, 
" LEipagne m 1808," published also about 
this time. 

Whatever may be the intrinsic merits of 
these first productions, all of which were 
written before the age of twenty-five, others 
more important have since made them be 
forgotten. 

In 1812, Guizot became connected with 
the University by M. de Fontane's naming 
him as assistant professor of histoiy for the 
faculty of literature ; and a little amr he ob- 
tained sole possession of the dudr of modem 
history, where he has left such glorious re- 
collections. Hero, too, was the commence- 
ment of his intimacy with another mind of 
the same ^tamp, M. Rover Collard, profes- 
sor of the histoxy of phiiosophy. 

This first part of tne life of Guizot was 
purely literary. Attenq»ta have been made to 
represent him as engaged in secret plots and 
cabals for the return of the Bourbons ; but 
there is no fiict to justify these assertions. 
Through his wife, and through his Hterary 
tastes, Guizot was connected with a certain 
class, who, throughout the rudeness of die 
empire, had preserved much of the elegance 
and good taste of the past aristocracy; a 
sort of philosophical polish was the order of 
the day among the literati of this class, 
whom Napole(« designated generally as 
iiBologue$, They certainly efifected a good 
deal in ideology,* but very little in politics; 
and we know besides, that the admired pen 
of Chateaubriand, entirely devoted to the 
subject, was not able to revive the recollec- 
tion of the Bourbons in the heazts of a ge- 
neration which had not witnessed their 
fall. 

The events of 1814 found Gtuaeot in his 
native town, Nimes, wheie he had gone to 

* ^WhM iM av tniBihiv tbitvait friae^plss. 



OUUBOt, 



ii 



visit bis mother, after a long absence. On 
his return, thanks to the actire friendship of 
M. Rover Collard, he was chosen by the 
Abbe de Montesquieu, then Minister of the 
Interior, to fill, under him, the functions of 
chief secretary. 

This is Guizot's first step in his political 
career. Although placed in a position ap- 
parently secondary, his undoubted talents 
eiiablea him to exert a manifest influence 
over the administrative measures of the day. 
The partisans of the liberal cause reproached 
him especially for having, conjointly with 
M. Royer Collard, Director-General of Pub- 
lication, prepared that severe law against the 
press, which was presented to the Chamb^^ 
of 1814, by M. de Montesquieu, and for 
having taken place in the ComUe de Censure 
beside M« de Frayssinous. On the other 
hand, the idtra-royalist faction were indig- 
nant at seeing a bourgeois, a professor, a 
Protestant, brought into the ministry beside 
an abbe belonging to the court, and speak- 
ing of constitutional equality, of the balance 
of powers, and trying to conciliate monarchi- 
cal ideas with the new interests created by tlie 
revolution. In the eyes of one party he 
went too far, of the other not fiir enough. 
The return from Elba put an end to this 
difficult position. 

After the departure of the Bourbons, 
Guizot resumed hb functions at the £Eu:ulty 
of letters ; and two months later, when Na- 
poleon's fall became evident to all, he was 
sent by the constitutional royalists to Ghent, 
as his friends say, to plead the cause of the 
charter with Louis XVIII., and to insist on 
the absolute necessity of dismissing from 
public afiairs M« de Blacas, considered as 
chief of the party belonging to the ancien re- 
ffime* That such was indeed the mission of 
JM. Guizot appears proved by the fact, that 
a month afterwards, on his return into France, 
Louis dismissed M. de Blacas, and published 
the proclamation of Cambray, in which he 
acknowledged the faults of his government, 
and added new guarantees to the charter. 

It is well known what violent disputes 
agitated the Chamber of 1815, composed of 
such heterogeneous elements, where the ma- 
jority, more royalist than the king, opposed 
constantly all proper measures wluch might 
rally the nation again round the dynasty of 
the Bourbons. Guizot occupied \hea the 
place of secretary-general in the ministry of 
justice, under M.de Barb^ Marbois,and in 
yielding much, too much perliaps> to the 
exigencies of the victorious party, he tried 
as much as he could to stop the encroaching 
sjMiit of the partisans of abiolnta royalQr. 



His first politicalpamphlet—''Dt« Gcuverm- 
ment Repretentat^ et de Vetat aeiuel de la 
France,*' which he published as a refutation 
of a work of M. de vitrollesy gave the mea- 
sure of his ideas on government, and placed 
him at once in the ranks of the constitutional 
royalist minority. 

The movement of reaction which was 
caused by the assassination of the Duke de 
Bern is not forgotten. The Decazes mi- 
nistry fell, and the most staunch supporters 
of the constitutional party were dismissed 
from affairs. M.M. Royer Collard, Ca- 
mille Jordan, De Barante, went out of the 
council of stale; Guizot went with them, 
and firom this epoch, until 1828, his political 
life was nothing but a perpetual combat 
against the tendencies of die ViUele minis- 
try. At the same time that the national in- 
terests of France were supported in the 
Chambers by eloquent defenders, Gnizo^ 
too young yet to mount the tribune, sup- 
ported the same cause by his writings, which 
met with universal success. In one he de- 
fends the Decazes system, overthrown as 
revolutionary by ike other party ; in another 
he discusses the cause of these conspiracies, 
which seem to him insidiously fomented by 
agents of the administration, for the purpose 
of overthrowing constitutional institutions ; 
besides, in his work— "Sttr la Pdns de 
mort en matiire politique,** without pretend- 
ing to exclude entirely from penal laws the 
punishment of death, even for political of- 
fences, he proves, in his grave and elevated 
style, that it is the interest of power to keep 
sheaUied a terrible wea|K>n, which trans- 
forms into a persecutor him that wields it, 
and into a martjrr whomever it strikes. 

There is one of his political essays whicl^ 
in many respects, appears worthy of special 
notice. In liis treatise " Dee Mojfene ^ op- 
paeiium et de ffouvemement dane V^iat oc- 
tud de la France" Guizot, showing com- 
pletely and without disguise his political 
ideas,* gives at once the explanation of his 
past conduct, and the secret of his future. 
His is not an ordinary opposition; he de- 
fends public liberty, but he defends it m a 
way peculiar to himself; he stands alone, 
and b not more severe towards those whom 
he opposes than those who fight with him ; 
the reverse of other politicians, who, for the 
most part, are purely negative and disap- 
proving, he is eminentiy affirmative and 
constituent — ^he never lays his hand on the^ 
evil without at once pointing out the re- 
medy. 

At the height of his struggle widi the mi- 
nistxy, Guizot developed, in his professor's 



78 



6aizo¥. 



cbair, in the midst of the plaudits of a yoiuig 
and numerous audience, the different phases 
of representative government in Europe, 
since the Roman empire. The ministry re- 
venged themselves on the professor for the 
attacks of the pamphleteer ; his course was 
interdicted in 1825. Retiring again into 
private life; af^er hanng passed through high 
public offices, Guizot was poor, but he could 
write. Renouncing the burning questions 
of the moment, he undertook a series of 
great historical works, which his biographer 
may safely praise, as his merit as a historian 
has never been contradicted. Then were 
successively published the " Collectiofi des 
Memoires rualxft a la Revohttion <jt Angle- 
terre:" the two first volumes of the history 
of this revolution ; the " Colleetwn des Me- 
moires rekuifs a VAncienne Hutoire de 
France /* and lastly, essays on the history 
of France. At the same time this indefatiga- 
ble spirit published historical essays on 
Shakespeare and on Calvin, a translation of 
the works of the English dramatist, and a 
great number of political papers inserted in 
9ie " Reeue Frangaue" 

The quiet home of Guizot was thus be- 
come the seat of knowledge and literature, 
when, in 1827, he lost the companion of his 
studies, -whose strong reason and moral force 
supported him through the agitations of his 
career. There is something both austere 
and tender in the last letter ^m the wife to 
her husband, and to her son who soon followed 
her to the grate. Bom a Catholic, Madame 
Guizot became Protestant on the bed of 
death; and her husband soothed her last 
agonies by reading, with his grave and so- 
lemn voice, one of the most beautiful ser- 
mons of Bossuet, the funeral oration of the 
Queen of England. 

Some time afterwards Guizot became one 
of the most active members of the society — 
** Aide^Un : le del t'aidera*' the object of 
which was to defend by all lawful means the 
independence of elections against the influ- 
ences of power. 

The ViU^Ie ministry fell ; that of Mar- 
tignac restored Guizot to his chair and to the 
chosen class which surrounded him with so 
much sympathy. Some time before the 
accession of the Polignac ministry, he voted 
for the address of the 221, adding to hb vote 
these severe words: — ^" Truth, he said, 
'' finds it hard enough to penetrate into the 
cabinet of kings ; let us not send it there 
pale and trembling ; let it be as impossible 
to mistake it as to donbt the loyalty of our 
sentiments*" 

Guizot wanted to force the government to 



live, but government insisted on dying. The 
27th of July, 1830, he drew up the protesta- 
tion of the deputies against the ordinances ; 
a protestation more respectful than hostile, 
the form of which displays a conservative 
spirit, fearing rather than desiring a revolu- 
tion. The existing powers judged it sedi- 
tious, the people found it weak and timid ; 
events proved that the people were right 

In the assembly of the twenty-nuith, at 
Lafitte's, when every one was abandoning 
himself to the joys of triumph, Gui- 
zot, alway-s exclusively pre-occupied with the 
imminent necessity oi systematizing the re- 
volution, rose up the first, and insisted 
strongly on the urgency of constituting, 
without delay, a municipal commission, 
which should be occupied specially with the 
re-establishment and preser\-ation of order. 
On the thirtieth this commission nominated 
him minister, pro tempore, of pubhc in- 
struction. On the thirty-first he read a paper 
in the Chamber, on the proclamation confer- 
ring on the Duke of Orleans the Lieute* 
nantcy-General of the kingdom. In the 
days which preceded the ceremony of the 
ninth of August, Guizot, whose activity in 
organization had placed him in the most 
difficult post at the time, that of Minister of 
the Interior, devoted himself both to the ge- 
neral re-composition of the body of function- 
aries and to the revision of the charter. In a 
few days 76 prefects, 176 sub-prefects, 38 
secretaries-general, were changed and re- 
placed. In the project of the new charter, he 
tried in vain to bring down to twenty-five 
the age required in order to be a deputy : 
the majority rejected this measure. 

The first ministry of July, created in the 
midst of enthusiasm, was as ephemeral as 
the movement of the three days. Personal 
disagreements, forgotten at first in the im- 
portance of the time and the common inte- 
rest, were again awakened when they began 
to think of consolidating the work so rapidly 
accomplished. The impetus was too strong 
yet for it to be possible to direct it — the 
principle of order should yield to the princi- 
ple otliberty ; Guizot retired. 

The history of the Lafitte cabinet is well 
known; after its dissolution on the thirteenth 
of March, the conservative element, at first 
crushed down, rose up again, powerful, im- 
perious, in the person of Casimir Perier. 
For the first time since July, a resolute and 
permanent majority formed in the Cham- 
bers. This parliamentary body, until then 
undisciplined and confused, divided itself 
into three distinct parties, manoeuvering to- 
gether under the hand of the impetuous mi- 



OUIZOT. 



79 



nister ; the left wing, composed of an impor- 
tant part of the liberal opposition to the res- 
toration brouffbt oyer to the new monarchy, 
was commanded by Thiers, the brilliant de- 
serter from the Lafitte party ; the right wing, 
composed of the former constitational roy- 
alists, was under the orders of Guizot; 
as to the centre, an aggregation of the un- 
decided and irresolute of erery regime, it 
found, for the first time, in M. Dupin, the 
most eccentric and most obstinate of^men, a 
chief obedient to order and ardent for the 
fight 

' Aided by this triple phalanx, the ministry 
of the 13th March, was able to move on- 
wards — ^to resist the opposition in the inte- 
rior of the Chambers, conquer the insurrec- 
tion in the streets, force the gates of Ancona, 
and consolidate the system of July, in sav- 
ing it firom the exaggeration of its prin- 
ciple. 

After the death of Casimir Perier, his ge- 
nerals disputed the command for some time; 
at length the right and left wings coalesced : 
MM. Guizot and Thiers joined hands, and 
the ministry of October, 1832, was formed. 
If we only consider Guizot as the Minis- 
ter of Public Instruction, amongst all the 
labours of his department, there is one glo- 
rious act that the parties most hostile to the 
statesman have received with imanimous ap- 
probation. The grand law of June, 1833, 
on primary education, conceived, prepared, 
defended and executed by Guizot, shall re- 
main to the future one of the most noble 
creations of our time. The principle of po- 
pular education adopted and proclaimed by 
the revolution of *89, but stopped in its pro- 
giress by the social changes of the last fifty 
years, received its entire accomplishment 
under the ministry of M. Guizot. Twelve 
hundred communes, that is to say, the quar- 
ter of France, until then deprived of that 
early education which makes honest men and 
good citizens, now saw erected beside the 
clergyman's house, the modest school, where 
the child of the poor man receives the know- 
ledge which is to support him through the 
rude trials of after life. The detailed in- 
structions addressed by Guizot to the pre- 
fects, the rectors, the mayors, the commis- 
sioners of examination, would fill volumes. 
The finest of these is the circular which he 
sent to all the teachers of the communes of 
France. In these few pages there is, per- 
haps, as much true eloquence, as much poe- 
try of style and thought, as in the most beau- 
tiful works of tlie age. With what touching 
familiarity the minister stretches oat his 
hand to the obscure village schoolmaster; 



how he raises him in the eves of all, but es- 
pecially in his own ; how he impresses him 
with the importance of his mission ; he is his 
colleague, his equal, for each in his own 
sphere concurs in promoting the glory and 
the tranquillity of the country. And then 
with what paternal solicitude, firom the in- 
terior of his cabinet, the statesman enters 
into the most minute details respecting the 
relations of the teacher to the children, their 
parents, the mayor, and the pastor. " No 
sectarianism or party in school," he writes, 
" the teacher ought to rise above the passmg 
quarrels that disturb society. Faith m Pro- 
vidence, the sanctity of his duties, submis- 
sion to paternal authority, the respect due to 
the laws — to the prince — to the common 
rights; such are the sentiments which he 
must endeavour to developed 

Is there a page of romance more touch- 
ing than the following simple sketch of the 
teacher's painful duties, and the consolations 
which he must find in himself? " There is 
no fortune to make, no fame to acquire in 
the painful obligations which the teacher has 
to accomplish. Destined to see his life pass 
away in a monotonous labour, sometimes 
even to meet with injustice or ignonmt in- 
gratitude,he must often be cast down if he did 
not derive his strength and his courage firom 
a higher source than the prospect of an im- 
mediate and purely personal interest. A 
profound conviction oi the moral importance 
of his labours must support and cheer him ; 
the pleasure of having served man, and se- 
cretly contributed to the public good, is the 
noble reward which his conscience alone can 
give. It is his glory to pretend to nothing 
beyond his obscure and laborious condition^ 
to make daily sacrifices hardly noticed by 
those who profit by them ; to labour, in fine, 
for man, and wait his recompence firom 
God." 

Com|)are these lines, of almost patriarchal 
meekness, with the pitiless words of M. 
Guizot before the msurgents; hear him 
thundering from the tribune against the 
corrupt tot7 of the revolution ; see him read- 
ing Bossuet at the death-bed of his wife, or 
stoically throwing the first handful of clay 
on the coffin of his sou, and say is there not 
something strange and powerfid in this in- 
dividual, in whom we find united the fire of 
Luther, the mildness of Melancthon, the im- 
passibility of Epictetus, the simplicity of 
Fenelon,' and the inflexible severity of 
Richelieu. 

After an existence of four years^ the ca- 
binet of October was dissolved from two 
causes, one exterior, the other interior. The 



80 



OUIZOT. 



majority which supported it in the Chambers 
was weakened and broken up ; in the interior 
dissentions arose between two men equally 
eminent. Guizot retired, and only entered 
into hostiMty with the administration^ when 
Mole became minister. The politics he dis- 
improres of are sererely judged ; he describes 
mem thus : — ** A political S3rstem without a 
principle or insignia, all expedients and ap- 
pearances, which warering, always leans to- 
wards all sides^ but nerer advances towards 
any real object ; which foments and aggra- 
vates this uncertainty of minds, this effemi- 
nacy of hearts, this want of faith, consis- 
tency, perseverance, energy; which are the 
disease of the nation and the weakness of 
power J" — and to strengthen power, Gui- 
zot threw hinaself into the coalition. Many 
thought that he failed in his object ; it is cer- 
tain that for a moment his cause was put in 
danger. 

Smce the 12th May, Guizot has been 
neither in the ministry nor in the opposition. 
He has been himself tiiat is to say, receiv- 
ing favourably all that agrees with his poli- 
tics, and repeuing all that is not in harmony 
with them. 

Guizot may be considered under four as- 
pects — as a private individual, as a writer, 
as an histonan, as an orator and politi- 
cian. 

His virtue as a private person has never 
been questioned. One of his most violent 
politnml enemies says: — ^"From the high 
morality of his sentiments and his life, M. 
Guizot is worthy of the esteem of all good 
men." 

Guizot*s style may be known among a 
thousand. The pen in his hand, he takes a 
firm and decided tone, goes straight to his 
object^ and is not exempt from a sort of 
stifilness and affectation ot abstract termino- 
logy; the form in which he clothes his 
thought is sometimes obscure; but the 
thought itself is always clear and bril- 
liant. 

As an historian, Guizot has rendered emi- 
nent service ; every one knows that he, to- 
gether with Thierry, Sismondi, and De Ba- 
rante, is a chief of the modem historical 
school, which has taught us not to measure 
the men and actions of past times by the 
standards and ideas of toAlay. 

In oratory Guizot uses a quiet but noble 
gesticulation. Small and slight in stature, 
his appearance is dignified and proud ; his 
voice is imposing and clear ; his language, 
calm or vehement, is always pure and cor- 
rect, it has more energy than grace^ it moves 
less than it persuades ; in fine, when he 



mounts the tribune among fiiends and ene- 
mies, not a sound is heard to distract atten- 
tion, or break the universal silence. 

The political versatility of Guizot has 
of^ been spoken of; his abrupt changes, 
his former opposition, his present servility ; 
but from his words, his actions, his writings 
in all epochs, there remains the conviction 
that, except in some few trifling instances^ 
his general distinguishing character, as a 
statesman, is tenacity and perseverance. In 
a word, as Guizot showed himself in the mi- 
nistry under Decazes, or in the opposition 
during the Villele administration, such he 
appears to-day. 

There has been, and always shall be, a 
struggle between two opposed principles, 
power and libert)r. In presence of these two 
hostile elements, which the highest intellects 
of all ages have tried to conciliate, no man 
remains perfecdy cold — perfectiy impartial ; 
political truths act on the heart as weU as 
the head, and no one can avoid an involun- 
tary movement towards either, according to 
his nature or disposition ; some ace araent 
for liberty, otiiera attracted by power ; the 
tribune is for one, the place of minister for 
the other; the sentiment of independence 
belongs to the first, the instinct of authority 
to the latter. Now Guizot is essentially one 
of the last ; inclined towards reform, but au- 
thoritative by nature, and governmental by 
conviction, he looks at France of to-day, 
founded on two great victories of the princi- 
ple of liberty, as drawn on to abuse its tri- 
umph ; and of the two elements equally ne- 
cessary to social life, Xhe weaker is power. 
Taking this for granted, Guizot seeks to re- 
establish equilibrium between the two points 
of support of the edifice, giving to one what 
the other has in too large proportion, and 
combining this partition of forces in certain 
limits with his own political measures. 

If we read attentively the political pam- 

Shlets of Guizot, under the restoration, we 
iscover readDy, through his attacks against 
the agents of power, a real sympathy for 
power itself. The revolution of July per- 
plexed him for a moment, but did not dis- 
courage him. Afler the 29th, when that 
principle, the object of his solicitude, was 
thrown down by the popular weight, you see 
him anxious to raise it litUe by nttie, to put 
it on its feet, to reanimate it by degrees, and 
then to push it boldly in the direction he 
wished to give it before its fall. 

In fine, what is Guizot P He is, above 
all, a partizan of power and government ; 
but at the same time the most independent 
of men, bearing tile yoke of the principles 



ON flBXmO A CBBTAIN BUILDINO BT MOOKLIdHT. 



81 



which he has laid on himself, and raising his 
head proudly in personal questions. A poli- 
tician of great worth, and esteeming himself 
as he deserves ; acting more from conviction 
than enthusiasm, more proud of the appro- 
bation of his conscience Uian of the homage of 
the crowd; giiled in a supreme degree with 



the perseverance and force of will which con- 
stitute a statesman; a mortal enemy of 
everything like disorder, and capable, if af- 
fairs were brought to the worst, of tlurowing 
himself without hesitation into despotism, 
whidi be does not approve, rather than into 
anarchy, which he abhors. 



■•"■*~~~*~*~*~"~*~"~~""~**--~-* l innr i rtr i JL ii - i Lnj-ri.rLn. 1 



ON SEEING A CERTAIN BUILDING BY MOONLIGHT. 



It it beantifbl still !— but its glory is gene. 
Like the day's brilliant orb when it ^ks to the west'; 
Like the eye where once genios and intdlect shone, 
Kow doaded by grief, or by aickneis oppreBsed* 

It 18 beautifiil still, — ^but the feelings which now 
It awakens, are not such as once It awoke ; 
When pride joined to pleasure was wreathed round the brow- 
When Grattaa, Flood, Cwran, Burgh, Ydverton, spoke. 

The pleasure, alasl that its beauty caUs fbrth. 
Is blended no l(mger with pride, but Ydth shame. 
And with sorrow to think tiiat such talent and worth 
Could not save to tiie Senate-house even its name. 

"^inth riiaine and with sorrow that one could be found 
Amongst Erin's own sons with a conscience so seared. 
As to barter for riches the consecrate ground. 
Where the fane of their country's young freedom was reared. 

When the shrine of Jehorah of old was debased 
By the serrants of Mammon, reproaches and blows 
Of the Go^ead incarnate his temple released 
From the presence and sordid pursuits of its foes. 

Ohf if it be not a presumptuous thought ; 
Oh 1 if such a wish be not counted profane, 
Would thus, had some pure-hearted patriot taught. 
That not unavenged should a stigma remain. 

On the shrine of that freedom his country had won. 
By a victory bloodless, and guiltless, and pure 
As the heart of her nMe aod generous son,* 
Who Tsanly believed tbat enfranchisement sure. 

And yet, even yet, may some patriot rise. 
And teach his poor country once more to desire 
That liberty's sun may illumine her skies, 
Tbat to noUe addevements her sons may aspire. 

It is beautiful still — ^but it seems as tho' shame 
For its fiiHen estate, could the frbric pervade. 
For 'tis only when seen by the moon's modest flaine. 
That its beauty and majesty both are displayed 

CATVAIi. 



* Grattan. 



82 



THE BOY ^]<fTUGSIA8T« 



THE BOY ENTHUSIAST. 



Strange were his childhood's hoorsi for they had 

passed 
Heedless of boyhood's sports, its laughs or smiles ; 
The sweets of young companionship's bright days 
To him were all unlmown. Oft would he lean 
Under an aged tree, with book in hand. 
And nourish his young soul with ancient tales. 
And rare old poetry. Stem lofty deeds, 
And knightly yalour — fair and high-bom dames, 
Brave jousts and tournaments, and feudal halls. 
Were pctured in his soul with gpraceftil hues, 
Which chast'ning Time to ancient things aye 

lends. 
In his bold look elate, and kindling eye. 
And glowing cheek, you might have read full well 
How his soul lingcr'd o'er the martial tale» 
And dreamed of glorious action : then a change 
O'er the bright tice would grow—the book would 

fall 
Unheeded on the turf— the sparkling eye 
Would soften into sadness — and the gaze. 
Fixed on the lovely scene which lay around. 
Would give to view intelligence most rare. 

Toung dreaming Boy I 
What wondrous visions o'er thy spirit passed — 
What haunting melody came on thine ears— 
What beauties to the common herd unknown. 
To thee were then unfolded; there thou passed 
Away from boyish thought, and though a child— 
A tender boy in yean— thy mind then knew 
The depth and music of the soul mature. 

'* Spirit of Nature ! beautiful and wild ! 
Sweet mystic influence which gently draws 
A music from the soul ; at thy light touch 
The magic chord of sympathy gives forth 
A melody thine own. To thee I call 1 
Thou art the Beautiful I In softest rays. 
I view thee in the rainbow, like a dream 
Of fleeting visions, beautiful and light 1 
The moonbeam is thy smile, and in the sun 
Most joyous is thy laugh; thou'rt all abroad ! 
The flowers thy breath exhale, and in the hush 
And stillness of the night at times a sigh. 
Swells from the waving branches, and the calm 
And wide outspreading bay, and purling stream ; 
And all is most entrancing. 'Tia thy sigh, 
As thou art sinking to thy evening rest, — 
Oh, let me be thy worshipper and child!" 

s 

Such was the burst that from that young one came 
One evening as he deemed himself alone. 
The sun was sinking in the sadd'ning west ; 
And softly murmuring thro' the shaking leaves. 
The night winds sighing crept ; the weeping dews 
Were shedding sweetness o'er the asking flowers. 
And gracing all with freshness, to be shown 
When on the morrow, with awakening life. 
The sun's bright rays should kiss those tears away. 
It was an hour to let the spirit stray 



To contemplation's home, and lose the soul 
In that strange state — so still, and yet so rife 
With life and thought, and power intense to feel 
The vast profound of nature's mystic lore. 

I saw him kneeling by an old oak tree. 

His hands were clasped, and from his noble brow. 

Kissed by the evening wind, his liair waved back 

In beautiful disorder, and the rays. 

The last, and loveliest of day, had thrown 

A hue of roses o'er his cheek so pale — 

And as he knelt, so young and all alone. 

And gave his wild outpourings thus to n^glit, 

I felt a growing sadness, for 1 thought 

On hard, ung^ial souls, on earthy -bound 

And lucre loving men, and slurs and taunts. 

And aU the thousand things which daily steal 

The sweets from youthful hearts : 

" Alas, I criedl 
And shall a flower like tUs, so sweet, so wild. 
Bloom midst our artist plants, its worth unknown? 
Shall bright creations of the noble mind 
Which rise upon the soul like byegone fnendsy 
Give place to forms, the skeleton remains 
Of those which once were beauty ? Shall the mind. 
Piercing with superhuman light and fond amaze 
The sun-tinged mists which lightly wreathe around 
Those lovely homes where Poetry doth dwell, 
'Midst rosy hues, and flowers, and rippling streams. 
Become the blear-eyed gaze which loves to look 
On earthly dullness, and the sterile lands 
Where feeling withers, and the heart grows cold ? 
And can there be a time when he shall feel 
The full remembrances of byegone hours 
Yield not a pleasing sadness, but a shock 
Of pain intense, contrasting what he was 
With that which Time hath made him, and the 

world. 
And burd'ning usage, and the chilling sneer? 
Ah 1 sad whene'er the heart becomes the tomb 
Of mem'ries of the past ; and when we'd call 
Some image from the gone, which should have Ufa 
And lineaments resembling thai we knew. 
How startling then to see come slowly forth 
A spectre from the Deadl whose shadowy form 
Chills all the soul 1 and makes us shun again 
The conjuration which hath power to bring 
The vague, the dhn, from out the viewless world." 

I ceased— just then I heard a rustling sonnd 
Proceedhig from the spot where he had knelt. 
And turning then my gaze, he passed me by. 
That strange, and gentle youth, and in the light 
So chast ning of the moon, he seemed to be 
So like some spirit from a better world. 
That inwardly I offered up my prayer 
For his sweet sake, to Him who mlea on hiffh 
And with a love intense for erring man, * 

Hears with a cheering sniUe his offered prayer. 

I*.G. wl 



INDIA — HSR OWN — AND ANOTHER 8. 



83 



INDIA— HER OWN— AND ANOTHER'S. 

CHAPTER XII. 
THE FIRST MAHRATTA WAR 

" THB CONFUSION NOW PRBTAILINO AMONG THS MAHSATTA POWERS CANNOT TBRMINATB CNPATOURABLY TO THB 
COMPANY ; THB CONJUNCTURB APPBARI TO PRBSBNT THB HOST ADVANTAOBOUS OPPORTUNITY THAT HAI BYBR OC- 
CURRED, OP IMPROVING THB BRITISH INTBRBSTS IN THAT QUARTBR OP INDIA."* — MARQUIS WBLLBSLBY. 



Before the middle of the 17th century 
the Mahrattas were unknown as a inilitaiy 
power in India. They had previously ex- 
isted as predatory tribes, destitute, like the 
Arahs, of any settled place of abode. But 
the intolerance of Aurungzebe had spread 
disaffection among all classes of his Hindu 
subjects ; and the Mahmttas^ who were fol- 
lowers of Brahma, were but feebly resisted, 
when they first ventured to disturb the peace 
of the empire. Each malcontent rajah was 
glad to purchase their ready aid, in his quar- 
rels with neighbouring chieftains, or in re- 
sisting the oppressions of the court of Delhi. 
The religious S3anpathy of the people par- 
doned their excesses, and garrulously spread 
their fame. Having been driven into anns 
by oppression, they were tempted to conti- 
nue in the exercise of their new avocation 
by the weakness of their oppressors. They 
attacked the government, not the people ; 
they appropriated the reveimes of each pro- 
vince they overran, but they did not lay 
waste the country that had yielded it.f 

Sevajee, their principal leader^ declared 
himself independent in 1646, and their pro- 
gress to ascendancy was thenceforth mi- 
interrupted, for more than a himdred and 
twenty years. Long before the English in- 
truders had gained a territorial footing in the 
south, the Mahrattas had established them- 
selves in the north and centre of Hindustan. 
The lineal heirs of Tamerlane were still 
permitted to wear the crest and robe of em- 
pire ; but, politically, they had ceased to be. 
Their resiaence at Delhi, where men had 
during so many ages been accustomed to 
believe that sovereignty had its fountain 
heady was insisted upon ; for the policy of 
the Mahrattas was directed not to the des- 
truction of the empire, but to the obtaining 
J — . . 

* Despatches, vol. 3. 

t Malcolm's Political History of Central India, 
ToL ], chap, iii 

VOL. III. NO. XVI. 



possession of its power for themselves ; and 
a new system of domestic rule, not altoge- 
ther destitute of points of resemblance to 
that of Germany in the middle ages, gradu- 
ally arose out of the ruins of Mahometan 
dominion. 

The great offices of state were made he- 
reditary, and lo each of the chieflain families 
to whom they were given, was conceded the 
peculiar possession of a section of the once 
imdivided heritage of Delhi. To Scindiah^ 
as one of the greatest of these functionaries, 
the most extensive portion fell ; and by de- 
grees his successors came to be regai-ded as 
the head of the federate state. Tlie fruitful 
plains of Malwa were assigned to Holkar ; 
Berar was occnplv^J by the family of Bhoon- 
slah ; the chief, whose title was that of Guick- 
war, had an equally independent though less 
extensive appanage ; and tlie Paishwah ruled 
over a nuniber of provinces only inferior in 
extent and opulence to those of Scindiah. 

But the habits and ideas of the Mahrattas 
were essentially inadequate to the sustain- 
ing of a settled form of government. Per- 
sonal daring is of infinite value in times of 
revolution ; but it is rather a dangerous 
quality, when prevalent among the military 
aristocracy of a permanent state. Restless- 
ness, and the want of attachment to the arts 
of peace, are similar in their consequences ; 
and the Mahratta chieftains, when they 
had no longer a common enemy to contend 
with, soon began to discover hereditaiy 
causes of quarrel among themselves. The 
desolating conflicts which ensued, gave ex- 
ercise and vent to the pasdions which they 
inherited from the founders of their empire ; 
but they were dignified by no popular merit, 
and accomplished no further purpose than 
the temporary aggrandizement of one pro- 
vince at the cost of another. Madhajee 
Scindiah, the ablest of his race, saw with 
grief the internal causes of national decay ; 
and though not perhaps without selfish aims, 

G 



84 



INDIA — ICER OWN—AND ANOTHEB'S. 



he was capable of looking beyond the personal 
interests of the day, and of scanning the 
wants and dangers of the time to come. He 
strove to wean hb troops from their Cossack 
mode of warfare ; and he was one of the first 
princes of the East, who, perceiving the im- 
mense superiority of European discipline, 
attempted the organization of a force on si- 
milar principles, as the best means of secu- 
rity against foreign invasion. He employed 
a French officer, De Boigne, to command a 
regular corps of infantry and artillery. His 
efforts were equally directed to protect the 
cultivators of the soil, against the violence 
and exactions of their rajpoot superiors. 
He endeavoured to restore notions of the 
sanctity of property among the many, and 
to lessen the power and importance of the 
turbulent chieftains. With the foresight of 
a statesman, he perceived, what to others 
seemed an idle dream of fear, the danger 
with which all Indian governments were 
menaced by the encroaching spirit of the 
English ; and he knew that nothing but an 
improved system of internal government, to- 
gether with the revival of a strong national 
feeling throughout the Mahratta league, 
could stem the tide of aggression. Ideas of 
a common origin still lurked in the minds of 
all classes of tibe community, and it required 
but the cultivation of these emotions in time, 
to raise up an impregnable barrier to con- 
quest and denationalization. 

But Madhajee was cut off ere his noble 
schemes for the regeneration of his country 
were matured, — ^probably before their value 
or necessity were comprehended by those 
around him. Such is too frequently the 
fate of a truly great man. He cannot make 
others see with his eyes, even while they are 
glancing with the living light of intuitive 
and divining genius ; much less when that, 
light is quenched in the faithless and un- 
real grave. Fortunate is the spirit-ruler, if, 
while time and sense are left him, he can by 
any means win such confidence in the force, 
and wisdom, and selflessness of his nature, 
that ordinary men will take counsel from 
him, and work with him for their own good 
— ^walking by faith, and not by sight ; for 
faith is the substance of things hoped for — the 
evidence of the things that are unseen. And 
this is true empire — ^the just and the heaven- 
intended right divine ; in everything the ve- 
riest opposite, and the keenest satire upon all 
the various counterfeits thereof, which are 
but clay kneaded with blood and tears, and 
burned into outer hardness in the oven of 
op])re8sion, wherein there is no life nor life- 
giving power, There is a royalty in nature, 



and there is a royalty which is against na- 
ture ; there is a homage which is worthy of 
being paid by man unto his fellqw man; 
and there is a homage which is a degrada- 
tion — ^infamy to both the giver and receiver. 
And this is the difilerence, that the true is 
yielded of its own free will, and cannot be 
extorted by any force or power ; the false 
is given from sordid fear, or yet more sordid 
hope ; and, without the power to enforce its 
concession, it cannot be had at all. The 
rule of the spirit of man overmen of unequal 
spirit, comes not by observation, and can no 
more be transferred to another, than the 
identity wherein it deeply mirrors the whole 
might and mystery of things around it and 
above it, can be changed. The usurpation 
of mere authority to bid and to compel, by 
one clod over its fellow-clods, may be trans- 
ferred through ages lineally from clod to 
clod, until the last is broken. The one is of 
the earth, fragile, temporary, sensual, unreal 
in its claim of rule ; the oilier b an unex- 
tinguished ray of that immortal nature, man 
had, and forfeited, but shall have again. 
Seldom falleth such a ray on one who oc- 
cupies, by inheritance, a throne ; much more 
frequently it falls upon the lowly places of 
this misruled world, as if to remind us how 
fiur have we strayed from the path of right 
and real rule. But sometimes too the bom 
monarch will rise superior to the ill fate that 
did its best to stifle him, with all that flattery 
and false worship that rocks the cradle of 
legitimacy ; and, despite of all, the dwarf 
majesty of accident will shoot up to the sta- 
ture of manhood, of genius, and of soul- 
rule. 

Such a man was Madhajee Scindiah ; he 
was the man to save his country from the 
\ spoiler, for he saw its peril, and knew what 
men and nations are. But when he was 
called untimely from the helm, none saw or 
knew anythuig but what was palpably before 
them — ^nothing but what could be clutched 
or sold. Dowlut Rao Scindiah succeeded 
in due course to his father's sceptre ; but his 
divining-rod was missing, and mm his death 
never could be found. "^^ A few of his pre- 
cepts were indeed remembered, and the 
French corps were still kept up at 6ualior,f 
and the other states of the confederacy were 
prevailed upon to resort to similar precau- 
tions.:^ But mutual jealousies, and the 
mean hopes of present gain, resumed their 



* Malcolm, vol. 1, chap. v. 
t Scindiah'ii capital. 

i Gurwood*8 Despatches of the Duke of Wel- 
lington, vol. 1, p. 66, 67, 



INDIA— H£B OWN— AND ANOTHER'S. 



85 



influence over the policy of all the Mahratta 
courts ; and at the moment when an ener- 
getic unison of nationality was most needed, 
Uieir distractions invited the ever-ready inter- 
ference of the stronger. 

In accordance with the policy they had 
for some time pursued, the English sought 
in the progress of their aggressions, to enlist 
the cupidity or gratify the resentment of 
neighhouring princes in the destruction of 
each appointed victim. This had heen the 
case in both the combinations against Tip- 
poo Saib ; the Nizam had played jackal 
throughout, and fared as jackals usually do, 
what had been given him in the first Polan- 
ditioo of Mysore being taken from him in 
the second. * The Paishwah was reluctantly 
dragged into the war against Tippoo ; and 
so little did his interests or wishes coincide 
with the rapacious views of the Company, 
that after the fall of Seringapatam, Lord 
Wellesley deemed it prudent to offer a large 
share of the spoil to him and Scindiah, both 
of whom " explicitly rejected it. The un- 
friendly, if not hostile, disposition thus ma- 
nifested towards the British Government," f 
served as a pretext " for active measures of 
self-protection and defence," a phrase which 
in the glossary of conquest, may be taken as 
the ordinary synonym of— crouching for the 
spring. 

Towards the end of 1802, the animosities 
of Holkar and Scindiah had reached their 
height. Each had a powerful army in the 
field ; and the dominions of the Paishwah 
were the threatened scene of their ill-fated 
contention, as the object of it was the attain- 
ment of a predominant influence over the 
imbecile durbar of Poonah.| In Decem- 
ber the Governor-General wrote to the secret 
committee of the Company, that " the in- 
creaaed distractions in the Mahratta states 
eoDstitiited a crisis of afilairs favourable to 
the success of their negociations."§ He 

Proceeds to detail the instructions given by 
im to the British resident at Poonah, the 
helplessness of their worthy friend and much 
to oe compassionated a]ly the Paishwah, 
hemmed in on all sides by violent and selfish 
rivals, who forsot all notions of justice and 
generosity in ue pursuit of their own views ; 
which " crisis of affairs," adds the Most No- 
ble Governor-General, ^' appears to me the 



* Secretary Edmonstone^t secret instmctions to 
Colonel Cloee. — Marquis Wellesley's Despatches, 
T0l.3,No. 2. 

t Gurwood, voL 1, p. 88. 

I The capital of the Paishwah. 

9 Marquis WeUesley'sPespafcohes, voL 3, No.2. 



most favourable opportimity for the com- 
plete establishment of the interests of the 
British power in the Mahratta empire. The 
continuance of the contest between Holkar 
and Scindiah will probably weaken the 
power and impair the resources of both, and 
afford the British government an opportu- 
nity of interposing its influence and media- 
tion." 

Influence and mediation — what are they ? 
Patience, firiend, and you will hear, and 
from the very best authority. Mean- 
while the Marquis adds to the foregoing, — 
''No reasonable apprehension exists that 
the progress of this system of policy will bo 
obstructed, either by the union of the con- 
tending parties, or the decisive success of 
either chieftain." Oh, when will nations 
read with learning eyes, the warning such 
avowals give of the secret of the conqueror's 
power — the mystery of their own undoing. 
Self-undone ! self-undone ! it is the same 
wail that the night wind hears round the 
crumbling tombs of Greece and Carthage, 
and the still green graves of Italy and Po- 
land. When will 3ie fury of party and the 
storm of selfishness listen to the chuckle of 
cold calculating despotism, as it broods over 
its purpose, and bides its time, and waits till 
mutual injury and exhaustion have placed 
both and all within its grasp ? They will 
never hear the warning, i e, who tolerate 
their struggle, and suffer them to betray you 
by their in&,tuation — ye, the many, the mul- 
titude, the people — ye have no interest in 
the fatal squabble of factions that trample 
on you, that riot on your patience ; but ye 
have an interest, vital as the breath that is in 
you — anxious as the dying prayer that your 
children may live firee — abiding as the root 
of the hills that shelter you — in disbelieving 
that party will ever hear, in time for your 
salvation, the whispering menace of the foe ! 

The resident at Poonah was desired to in- 
fonn the Paishwah that the British govern- 
ment were exceedingly desirous of interpos- 
ing in his behalf, upon certain stipulations. 
The principal of these were, the admission of 
a permanent subsidiary force into his domi- 
nions, and the assignment of a certain extent 
of territory for their support. In other 
words, they offered to secure him against 
the intrigues of his native rivals, if he would 
confide his kingdom to their custody. 
Helpless as his position was, the unfortunate 
chief revolted at this degrading offer, and 
vainly endeavoured to avoid, by negotiation, 
the miserable alternative of choosing be- 
tween masters. But Lord Wellesley was 
not a man to be turned firom his purpose by 

c 2 



86 



INDIA — ^HBR OWN — AND ANOTHBR fl. 



the finesse of a weak and wayering court ; 
still less were bis generous efforts for 
the rescue of an ally, to be frustrated by 
the unwillingness of the party whose 
protection was professedly sought. Large 
bodies of troops were put in motion, 
and in a few months a powerful army of 
observation was collected on the northern 
firontier. The terms above-mentioned were 
eagerly pressed upon the Paishwah j he was 
even recommended to provide for his per- 
sonal safety by flight urom his capital, and 
strongly urged to select Bombay as his 
place of refuge.* The despatch which con- 
tains these interesting statements was ac- 
companied by a paper, to which it refers, 
wherein the conduct of the Paishwah, for 
some years, is recounted ; — ^how, " in 1798, 
he preferred danger and independence to a 
more intimate connexion with the British 
power, which could not be formed on princi- 
ples calculated to secure to him the constant 
protection of their arms, without at the same 
time establishing their ascendency in the 
Mahratta empire ;" — ^how the Paishwah had 
refused to enter into subsidiary engagements 
on former occasions, and what a hostile dis- 
position this manifested ; — how the " infer- 
ence to be deduced from these considera- 
tions was, that, until irresistibly compelled 
by the exigency of his affairs, to have 
recourse to the assistance of the Company, 
the Paishwah would never be induced to en- 
ter into any engagements, which, in his ap- 
prehension, would afford to the British go- 
vernment, the means of acquiring an ascen^ 
dency in the Mahratta empire ;** — ^how it was 
" his object to avoid that controul and ascen- 
dancy which it was their interest to estab- 
lish ; — how the Paishwah was aware that the 
permanent establishment of a British force in 
the vicinity of Poonah, would immediately 
place him in some degree of dependence ; 
and how he, therefore, had proposed that 
the subsidiary force should be retained 
within the province ceded to the company 
for their support.*' This stipulation was ac- 
ceded to ; but Secretary Edmonstone pro- 
ceeds confidentially to detail how such an ar- 
rangement, inasmuch as it gave their ally 
" the benefit of their support, without his 
becoming stthject to them," could never be 
thought of as a final measure. But, he adds, 
that " subsidizing a British force, even un- 
der the limitations which the Paishwah an- 
nexed, must immediately place him in some 
degree of dependence upon the British 
power ; that the dependence of a state in 

* Idar^uis Wellesley's Despatches, vol. 3, No. 2. 



any degree upon the power of another, na- 
turally tends to increase ; as a sense of secu- 
rity derived from the support of a foreign 
power, produces a relaxation of vigilance and 
caution." He concludes by saying, — *' re- 
quire firom the Paishwali an obligation to 
expel firom his dominions, the subjects of any 
European state with which we may here- 
after be at war."* 

Such were the confidential instructions of 
the government at Calcutta to their envoy 
at the court of Poonah. In the month of 
October following. Colonel Close informed 
the Governor-General that the weakness of 
the Paishwah had at length induced him to 
accept the terms proposed; and the sub- 
sidiary treaty was diereupon concluded, 
whereby it was solemnly declared that the al- 
liance and engagement so entered into, was 
" meant for thepreservation, permanent pros- 
perity, and honour of the Paishwah 's govern- 
ment !'* A large portion of the valuable pro- 
vince of Guzerat was ceded absolutely to the 
Company, for the pay of the six battalions 
who were to form this guard of honour; and 
Lord Wellesley, in a letter to Lord Castle- 
reagh in the following year, boasts that the 
revenue of the province thus assigned, after 
paying the troops, " would leave a conside- 
rable balance to die account of the Com- 
pany."f All which, when duly remitted to 
England, was obviously for the " permanent 
prosperity and honour of the Paishwah's go^ 
vemment." 

On the success of Holkar's army, over 
the combined forces of the Paishwah and 
Scindiah, on 25th October, 1802,^ the Paish- 
wah had fled to Bassein, where the above- 
mentioned subsidiary treaty was signed. 
British honour now required the peremptory 
restoration of his Highness — their new vas- 
sal. A case for armed intervention had ar- 
rived ; and General Wellesley was directed 
to demand, and, if necessary, to enforce the 
immediate retreat of both the rival armies. 
That of Scindiah had been powerfully in- 
creased by the jimction of the Rajah of Be- 
rar, an indolent and usually pacific chief, 
whose indignation and apprehensions had 
been roused in to activity by Uie treaty of Bas- 
sein. The pro-consular style in which this was 
commanded appears to have been deliberately 
chosen. A high and imperious tone of dic- 
tation, could they once browbeat the Mah- 
ratta chieftains into bearing it, would soon 

* Marquis Wellesley's Despatches, vol. 2, No. 3. 
f Marquis Wellesley's Despatches, voL 3, No. 
23, 20th April, 1603. 
X BiiU, book 6, chap. xL 



INDIA — UVR OWN-— AND ANOTHBR S. 



87 



work their Olds. Hence no parley would 
be listened to ; no concessions profiered to 
avert hostilities^ would be received. The 
object was publicly to degrade the Mahratta 
sovereigns in the eyes of their subjects, or 
to force them into war. The chiefs desired 
neither, and repeatedly offered to leave the 
naming of the day to the English general, 
on which if he undertook to withdraw his 
troops from the frontier, they would engage 
to do likewise. On the 1st of August they 
wrote to the English commander — " by the 
blessing of God, both armies are to this mo- 
ment on their own territory, and no aggres- 
sion or excesses have been committed. To 
satisfy your mind and to dispel your alarms, 
it has been resolved that the armies now en- 
camped here shall retire towards Burham- 
pore, on condition that the armies of the 
English and the Nizam shall commence 
their retreat on the same date.'***^ On the 
6th of August, General Wellesley replied 
that "this proposition was tmreasonable 
and inadmissible, and that they must stand 
the consequences of the measiures which he 
fotmd himself obliged to adopt."f 

At the same time Colonel Collins was di- 
rected to inform Scindiah, that unless he 
gave satisfactory pledges of remaining neu- 
tral in the struggle, war would be declared 
against him. He replied, that he had re- 
ceived numerous solicitations from the 
Paishwah to advance to his support; and 
while disclaiming any hostile intentions to- 
wards the Company, he declared that he 
could not reco(];nise the treaty of Bassein — 
(whereby the Paishwah had become the vas- 
sal of England) — until the other chiefs of 
the empire had been consulted thereon.^ 
Meanwhile the Paishwah had been been re- 
stored to his capital, on the 13th May, with- 
out bloodshed ; his dominions were free of 
all invaders ; and thus the only excuse for 
war on the part of the British was taken 
away.§ 

The excuse was gone, but the motive still 
remained. On 8th July, Lord Wellesley 
wrote to General Lake, the commander-in- 
chief of the " army of observation," that al- 
though the pretences had vanished, on which 
it had been originally collected upon the 
Mahratta frontier, the opportunity was too 
good to be lost. "The despatches from 
Colonel Collins satisfy me that we shall be 

* Gurwood, voi 1, p. S76. 

t Idem. 

X Letter of Colonel Collins to the Governor 
General, 29th May, 1803._Marquis Welledey's 
Despatches, toL 8, No. 37. 

§ Mill| book 6| G9jf* zi. 



able to break, or rather to prevent the con- 
federacy against the Paishwah; but Scin- 
diah 's conduct requires puni$hfMnt ; and I 
therefore wish you to use every effort to pre- 
pare your army to strike an effectual blow, 
in the course of next month. I wish you 
to understand, that I consider the reduction 
of Scindiah's power to be an important ob- 
ject."* Again, on the 18th July, he urges 
the* expediency of makmg an active effort 
against Scindiah, and Berar ; for the Paish- 
wah is cure /* and in an approving note on 
Lake's plan of operations, he says, — •'If 
these objects be obtained previously to the 
month of October, the Mahratta power will 
be extinct.**f 

Concessions of territory were now de- 
manded of Scindiah and the Rajah of Berar, 
as the only price of peace with the offended 
majesty ef Calcutta ; and upon refusal, in 
the month of August, General Wellesley in- 
vaded the dominions of Dowlut Rao, and 
quickly overran the fertile province of 
Ahmednegur. It was forthwith treated as 
a conquered country, and its revenues ap- 
propriated by the victors. % 

We had almost forgotten to observe, that 
the entire of the previous transactions, both 
diplomatic and military, had been taken on 
account of the Nizam. The Paishwah 's ter- 
ritory adjoined his ; they had long been al- 
lies and friends ; and the English had taken 
all this trouble merely to oblige the court of 
Hyderabad. § Whether they ever went 
through the formality of consulting him at 
any stage of the proceedings, does not in- 
deed very distincUy appear ; but they took 
care to give his troops ample employment 
dining the struggle that ensued. His 
Highness's name, however, was not included 
in the proclamation issued by General Wel- 
lesley, on taking possession of Ahmedne- 
gur ;|| though the expediency of making 
him compensation out of some other slice of 
the Mahratta spoil was suggested for consi- 
deration. 

Amongst the numerous pretences which 
were set up in justification of the war, none 
was dilated on with more eloquence, than the 
policy of breaking up the French corps m 
Scindiah's service. M. Perron was des- 
cribed as being at the head of a highly dis- 
ciplined force, officered by Europeans, and 
capable, as it was dimly mtimated, of infi- 
nite and overwhelming expansion. The 

* Despatohes, yoL 3, Ka 44. 

Idem, No. 47. 

Gurwood, voL 1 p. 320. 

The capital of the Nizam, 
j Gurwood, voL 1| p. 329. 



8& 



moiA — ^HER OWN— AND ANOTHER 8. 



apologists of the war well knew, lliat so long 
as they could make this string of enmity to 
France vibrate in the public ear of England, 
all enquiry or examination into the real state 
of the case would be unheard. But the 
truth cannot be intercepted in its appeal to 
the judgment seat of history; and, in the 
present mstance, the facts come with more 
than ordinary clearness and certainty. Sir 
Philip Francis, the able and fearless im- 
pugner of Warren Hastings, stated in the 
House of Commons, during the debate upon 
Lord Wellesley's administration, 5th April, 
1805, that there were altogether but twelve 
French officers in the Mahratta service at 
the period in question ; that the troops un- 
der their command were hardly distinguish- 
able from other native corps ; that Scindiah 
was jealous to the last degree of Perron's ta- 
lents and authority, and had not concealed 
his aversion for a considerable time previous 
to the war ; that, in consequence of this feel- 
ing. Perron had long felt his position inse- 
cure, though entrusted with the government 
of Delhi, and that he was anxiously awaiting 
a fair occasion of abandoning the service of 
Dowlut Rao : finally, that 3ie English ru- 
lers in India were well aware of all these 
circumstances. The anti-Gallican frenzy 
would of course believe no word of this when 
uttered ; the farce was played out with ap- 
plause, and the tragedy too. But after thirty 
years have sped theu* flight, forth comes 
the authentic version of the Marquis Wel- 
lesley's Despatches, during his Pachalic of 
Hindustan ; and there we find, that before a 
sword was drawn, his Excellency instructed 
General Lake to bribe Perron, if possible, 
into deserting his employer, for that he was 
aware of his desire to quit Scindiah's service. 
And inasmuch as it was probable that Per- 
ron might prefer ^ to dispose of his power 
to a French purchaser. Lake was em- 
powered to conclude any agreement for the 
security of M. Perron's pergonal interests, 
accompanied by any reasonable remunera^ 
tion from the British government, which 
should induce him to deliver up the whole 
of his military resources, together with his 
territorial possessions, and the person of the 
Moghul, and of the heir apparent, into 
Lake's hands."* For, by a singular succes- 
sion of incidents, the unfortunate emperor 
Shah Alum had been committed to the 
guardianship — in other words, to the cus- 
tody — of this soldier of fortune. The fallen 
prince, after having been by turns the pri- 

* Letter from the Governor General to General 
Lake> April, 1803. 



soner of different Mahratta powers, was now 
thought worth purchasing by the British; 
and they were ready to get possesion of hia 
person by bribery or force, or through the 
happy combination of both. 

To his honour it must, however, be re- 
corded, that Perron resisted the temptation. 
He bravely defended Alighur, his principal 
place of strength, to the last, and till its 
capture had cost the assailants many hun- 
dred lives. But finding, after some time, 
that his resources were imequal to the con- 
flict, and that Scindiah had already named 
his successor, he agreed to lay dovm his 
arms, receiving no consideration whatsoever 
from the victors, stipulating for personal 
safety alone, and without transferring to the 
enemies of his ungrateful master *' the small- 
est portion of the resources with which he 
was entrusted.** 

After the battle of Delhi, on the 11th 
September, 1803, the British General en- 
tered the once haughty city of Tamerlane. 
When ushered into d^e presence of Shah 
Alum, '* he found the unfortunate emperor, 
oppressed by the accumulated calamities of 
ola age, degraded authority, extreme po- 
verty, and loss of sight, seated under a small 
tattered canopy^ — the remnant of hia royal 
state, — ^with every external appearance of 
the misery of his condition. ' Such are 
Lord WeUesley's own graphic words, to 
which he subsequently adds a description of 
the populari^ the English had acquired 
" by delivering the unfortunate and aged em- 
peror, and the roval house of Timour, from 
misery, degradation, and bondage." " Who 
would not unagine," says Mill, *' upon hear- 
ing this language of the English ruler, that 
he was about to restore His Imperial Ma- 
jesty, whom his subjects were anxious to see 
delivered from a state of bondage, to his lost 
authority and territories ? Not an atom of 
this. The English were to restore no ter- 
ritory. Even that which they were now 
taking fix)m Scindiah, and of which, by 
Scinmah, the emperor had but lately been 
robbed, the English were to keep to them- 
selves. They were to keep * His Imperial 
Majesty,' stiU degraded firom all sovereign 
power, — ^still in bondage as much as ever. 
The very words of the Governor-General 
are, that only so much regard should be paid 
to the comfort of 'His Majesty and family, 
as was consistent with the due security of 
their persons,' — in other words, — ^their im-^ 
prisonment"f 



* Mill, Book 6, chap. 12. 
t Idem. 



INDIA — HBB OWN — AND ANOTHBB's. 



89 



The memorable battes of Assye^ on the 
23rd September^ and of Argaum, on the 
29th November following, virtually put an 
end to the strug^e. 

Scindiah was now fain to sue for peace, 
and he agreed to cede Baroach, Anmed- 
negur, Delhi, and Agra, territories embrac- 
ing 22,000 square miles, and yielding an 
annual income of upwards of a miUion and 
a half sterling.* The other chieftains followed 
his example, and purchased a cessation of 
hostilities, by alienating portions of their 
respective territories. From the Rajah of 
Berar, Cuttack, and Balasore, 10,000 square 
miles in extent, were accepted.t These 
treaties were concluded in December, 1803, 
'* the tenns being dictated by General Wel- 
lesley/'J Writing to his brother the Go- 
vernor-General, on the subject of that with 
Berar, he says, — " The cessions are made to 
the British government and its allies ; and 
I have drawn it in this manner in order that 
your Excellency may have an opportunity 
of disposing of them hereafter, in such man- 
ner as you may think proper. * * « 
The c^ed portions are the finest and most 
valuable parts of the Rajah's territory. The 
revenues are computed at one crore of ru- 
pees — (about a million sterling.) I should 
have demanded a sum of money, but I be- 
lieve the Rajah is as poor as the other 
Mahratta chieftains."§ The trea^ with 
Scindiah was framed in a similar way, he 
tells the Governor-General, for similar rea- 
sons. He declares that Scindiah is so re- 
duced as to be hardly able to maintain him- 
self; and that therefore the exactions from 
him are less in proportion, than those from 
Bhoonslah. But he is bound to receive a 
subsidiary force from the Company, and per- 
manently to maintain them.|| Finally, a 
supplemental treaty was executed with the 



* Munro, vol. 1, p. 368. 

t Marquis Wellesley's Despatches, vol. h note 
to Map. 
1 Monro, voL 1. p. 366. 
§ Gurwood, vol. 1, 568-561. 
I Idem, 566. 



miserable Paishwah, in December, 1803, by 
which the province he had recently ceded 
was exchanged for another worth £170,000 
more per annum.* 

Thus ended the first Mahratta war, in 
which the East India Company acquired a 
greater augmentation of territory than their 
ambition had ever before ventured to grasp. 
"We are now," says Munro, "complete 
masters of India, and nothing can shake our 
power, if we take proper measures to con- 
firm it. The most essential is a military ar- 
rangement for the whole of our possessions. 
Our armies ought to be increased. ♦ * ♦ 
The revenues of our new acquisitions, and 
the increase of revenue in our old domi- 
nions, would more than counterbalance the 
additional expense."f This at least is ho- 
nest; there is is no silly afiectation of be- 
lieving that the people were, or could be- 
come acquiescent or indifferent under the 
yoke. What has been won by violence 
must be kept by force, or it cannot be kept 
at all. And that public order, founded upon 
violence and maintained by violence, should 
be consistent with itself, let us tax die peo- 
ple for their degradation ; and that we may 
make by the transaction money as well 
as fame, let us turn the screw of exaction 
tighter than it was before. 

" Several of the principal powers have al- 
ready received a subsidiary force ; there is 
little doubt that most of the others will fol- 
low their example; and whenever they sub- 
mit to receive a subsidiary force to be con- 
stantly stationed in their dominions, they 
have m fact lost their independence. They 
are influenced by the British government in 
India; they become accustomed to its su- 
periority ; they sink into the rank of tribu- 
taries ; and their territories, on the failure 
of heirs, or perhapt sooner, will form pro- 
vinces of the British Empire.":^ 



* See Treaty in Appendix A to Marquis Wel« 
lesley's Despatches, vol. 3. 
t Munro, vol 1, 353, 354, 
\. Idem, vol. 1, p. 366, 



90 



INDIA — HSR OWN — AND ANOTHER S« 



CHAPTER XIII. 



TH£ SECOND MAHRATTA WAB. 



*' DItTBUST OP BACH OTBBB* OB TBB LUST OV POWBB, MIGHT MAKB THBlf CONPBDBBATB WITH VB POB TBB 
PDBPOSB OP TBB HOMBITr J BUT WBBN TBBY POUND TBAT TBBT BAD BBBN HADB TBB INrTBUMBNTS OP SUBTBBTING TBB 
DOMINION OP TBB BACB TO WBICB TBBY BBLONOBD, AND THAT TBBIB POWBB WAS CONTBOOLBD BY TBB TBBT 
PBB80NS BY WBOM IT HAD BBBN SO BBOBNTLY BtTABLISHBD, IT BBCAMB NATUBAL POB THBM TO SBBK, THBOUGH 
BVBBT MBAIU. BMANCIPATION PBOM SUCB HUMILIATING TBBALDOM."*— MALCOLM. 



While the war with Scindiah and the 
Rajah of Berar lasted^ Holkar was left un- 
disturbed. Though a main cause or pre- 
text for the armed interference of the Eng- 
lish in the affairs of the Mahratta empire m 
the previous year, it was not deemed expe- 
dient to resent his contumacy or his talents, 
imtil his rivals were subdued. No sooner, 
however, had the Governor-General consum- 
mated his schemes for their humiliation, 
than he began to feel uneasy at the scandal 
which the British name must suffer, if terms 
were any longer kept with the reigning chief 
of Malwa. Jeswunt Rao was a junior 
branch of the house of Holkar, and had by 
force or stratagem usurped the place of 
Cashee Rao, who was the lineal heir. That 
disinterested sense of justice to which the 
Anglo- Indian administration had hitherto 
laid claim, required that war should at 
this particular moment be declared against 
the usurper, for the purpose of wresting 
from him the dominions he had unlawfully 
obtained possession of, and of conferring 
them upon the dependent allies of the 
Company. As for the rightful heir, he was 
formally to be spoken oi until Malwa was 
reduced ; after that he could only stand in 
the way of satisfactory adjustment, and 
must be provided for in some other way. 
It was anxiously desired that Scindiah and 
the Paishwah should be made partakers of 
the spoil ; and, whether sincerely or not, they 
both professed to aid in the vast preparations 
which, under Lord Lake, were made in 
1804, for the destruction of Holkar. f 

This expedient of corruption had already 
been resorted to, although it does not ap- 
pear with much success, in the previous 
struggle. We find General Wellesley urg- 
mg Uie resident at Hyderabad, in 1803, 



* History of Central India, 
f Mill, book 6, chap. 13. 



to engage the co-operation of Meer Khan, 
an active minor chieftain, by holding out to 
him the prospect of sharing in the territorial 
spoil. And no effort was spared for weaning 
the subordinate rajahs from the defence of 
their country, by lures of various glitter. 
" They kept aloof, however," and could, at 
fiurthest, be induced to observe neutrality.* 

How long their devotion to the cause of 
their race might have withstood the temp- 
tations thus held forth to them, 'twere vain 
to guess, had the tide of conquest been al- 
lowed to pour on uninterruptedly. Despair 
is the twin brother of desertion ; while hope 
remains — while a chance of eventual justice 
being done to the motives that dictate self- 
devotion is left, — heroism hath where to lay 
its head; and however inhospitable that 
shelter be, it can wake up from its hard 
pillow with strength sufficient to endure or 
die. But to endure or die for country's 
sake, strength is needful; and amid Uxe 
wreck and fall of successive hopes, that 
strength fails. The Mahrattas had not de- 
serted Scindiah even in his adversity ; now 
Holkar was assailed; he was Scindiah'a 
enemy no doubt, but the assailant was the 
common foe. Even Scindiah could stifle 
his old hatred, and secretly assure Jeswunt 
Rao, that in his camp he should find protec- 
.tion, and, at the prudent time for throwing 
off the mask he had been compelled by the 
victors to assume, an ally. 

Call this duplicity if you will ; but weigh 
the fraud in candid scales. Here was the 
impoverished and disabled rival of the des- 
tined victim, at the moment when all the 
jealousy and resentment of a life were about 
to be gratified, not at his cost, but for* the 
certain purpose, among other objects, of his 
direct aggrandizement, secretly preparing 
to forego the selfish profit, and the only 

* Gurwood, vol. 1, p. d29, 334. 



INDIA — ^HEB OWN AND ANOTHER'S. 



91 



apparent chance of revenge^ and hazard- 
ing the implacahle enmity of that enemy 
from whose recent onslaught he had hardly 
enjoyed breathing time. Whatever the 
true motive of Scmdiah's conduct towards 
Holkar may have been, whether it was 
a returning insight into the only true 
and great policy, by which the invader could 
be effectually kept at bay, or an unreasoned 
impulse of sympathy for the last unhum- 
bled bulwark of the Mahratta dynasty, it 
seems impossible to regard it as an or- 
dinary instance of faithlessness or instability 
of purpose. 

Holkar successfully baffled Lake, and de~ 
feated Monson in a variety of desultory 
conflicts, during the autumn of 1804 ; and 
before the campaign of 1805 could be pro- 
perly opened, the ambitious spirit who had 
been the restless cause of so much misery 
and evil, was replaced at the head of Indian 
affairs by one of a very different temper. 
The Directors in England had at an early 
period become alarmed, at the impetuous 
and grasping policy of Lord Wellesley . When 
Mysore was conquered, they could hardly 
conceal their ill-humour, at finding that their 
joint-stock sovereignty had been increased, at 
the cost of several additional millions of 
joint-stock debt.* Had it been only a few 
thousand lives that had been wasted, it would 
have been nothing : " such is the fortune of 
war." But the sordid soul of Leaden hall- 
street sickened at the impiety of unpro- 
ductive conquest; that was shocking; and 
imder the influence of this feeling, letters of 
very mingled import were addressed to their 
vain«glorious Lieutenant, acknowledging his 
fame and retaining his plunder, but em- 
phatically protesting against his Excellency's 
investing any more of their resources in such 
brittle, though brilliant ware. 

Whereupon the indignant Marquis, stung 
to the quick by such ingratitude, resigned, and 
could only be induced to retain his commis- 
sion, mitil his successor should be named. 
Early in 1805, the aged Lord Comwallis 
was sent out as Govenior-General, charged 
with instructions, and prepared also as it 
would seem by his own convictions, to put 
a peremptory stop to the "comprehensive 
policy" of Lord Wellesley. He found on his 
arrival the second campaign recommenced 
in Malwa, and the dispositions of Scindiah 
more than doubtful. Lord Lake, who still held 
the command-in chief, warmly advocated the 
necessity of vigorous measures ; and being 
a disciple of the Subsidiary Alliance school, 



* Mm, book 6, chap. 13. 



pohited out the vast additional powers of 
controul and mastery, which a few successes 
in the field would inevitably confer. But 
the Governor-General declared his fixed de- 
teimination, to pursue in every respect a 
totally opposite line of policy. He found 
the treasury of Calcutta empty, and the pay 
of the officers in every department in arrear. 
He saw in the system of intermeddling in 
the domestic administration of the Mahratta 
kingdoms, nothing but interminable toil and 
perplexity ; he perceived that the undertake* 
ing to garrison the palace of a despoUc 
prince with British troops, was to render him 
irresponsible, and thereby to render him in- 
tolerable to his subjects, while it in no* way 
rendered the defence of the country more 
secure ; he declared that for the sake of the 
Company and of the people of Hindustan, 
this system of a double government ought to 
be abandoned everywhere ; and he notified 
his resolution of restoring to Holkar, all the 
provinces that had been taken from him since 
the beginning of the war. Upon his death, 
which took place in a few months after, Sir 
G. Barlow, as senior member of the Supreme 
Council, assumed the temporary reins of go- 
vernment; and fully participating in the 
cautious views of the deceased nobleman^ 
peace was restored by the end of the year.* 
The administration of Lord Wellesley 
had lasted upwards of seven years. In 
rapidity and extent of acquisition, it stands 
unrivalled in the annals of British India. 
Three powerful sovereigns were either 
crushed or reduced to vassalage; 140,000 
miles of territory were added to the empire 
of England ;f and her revenues were aug- 
mented by £8,561,430 a-vear.J And yet 
when the din of glorying had ceased, and 
the victors in cool blood sat down to count 
their gains, what profit had they in those 
things whereof they were not, although 
they ought *to have been, ashamed ? By 
the report of a select committee of the 
House of Commons upon the afifairs of 
India, in 1810, "the final result" of a 
searching scrutiny into the financial history 
of the Company, since the conclusion of 
the first war with Tippoo Saib, appeared 
to be this: — That in 1793 their revenue 
being £6,963,625, and the net charges, 
including interest upon the funded debt, 
£5,800,048, their clear profits amount- 
ed to £1,163,577 a-year; while in 1808 
their gross receipts being £15,525,055, and 

* Mill, book 6, 13 chap. 

{Marquis Weileeley't Desp. vol I. note to map. 
Second Report of Select Committeei 1810. 



92 



INl>IA-^HBR OWN — ^AND ANOTHER'S. 



their total expenditure £15,551,097, instead 
of a surplus there appeared a deficit of 
£26,042.* Such is the sagacity of con- 
quest — such its knack at overreaching itself 
in its haste to be rich. 

To understand thoroughly the causes that 
contributed to produce a result apparently 
so unaccountable, it were necessary to anti- 
cipate that portion of our narrative which 
must form its sequel, namely, a review of 
the system of administration, iiscal, politi- 
cal, and judicial, which the English adop- 
ted in the provinces they obtained by war* 
In passing, however, let us hear the con- 
fession of one whose testimony is that of a 
partizan of conquest, and whose weight as 
an authority upon Indian affairs has never 
yet been questioned. Sir Thomas Munro 
was one of the few men, who had opportuni- 
ties of forming a correct judgment upon the 
comparative worth of systems of rule, in 
almost every department of government, 
civil as well as military, in times of pro- 
longed tranquillity, and amid tin troubles of 
war. His willingness to see conquest ex- 
tended even fiuther than it had yet been, 
was not concealed in a letter addressed to 
Lord Hastings, Governor-General in 1817. 
He points out therein, the facility wherewith 
new acquisitions might be made at the ex- 
pense of Scindiah ; but he earnestly depre- 
cates any extension of the subsidiary sys- 
tem, which had been long established in 
those territories, which the Company had 
wrenched from the Nabob of Oude, the 
Mahrattas, and the Nizam. Such a mode 
of rule he says, *' has a natiural tendency to 
render the government of eveiy country in 
which it exists, weak and oppressive, — to 
extinguish all honourable spirit among the 
higher classes, and to degrade and im- 
poverish the whole people. The presence 
of a British force cuts off every chance of 
remedy of a bad government, by supporting 
the prince against eveiy enemy. It renders 
him indolent, by teacning him to trust to 
strangers for his security; and cruel and 
avaricious, by showing lum he has nothing 
to fear from the hatred of his subjects. 
Wherever the subsidiaiy system is intro- 
duced, unless the reigning prince be a man 
of great abilities, the country will soon bear 
the marks of it, in decaying villages and 
decreasing population. This has long been 
observed in the dominions of the Paishwah 
and the Nizam, and is beginning to be seen 
in Mysore. The protection of the British 

^ S«c<ma Report of Select Committee, IdlO. 



government is an advantage deariy bought, 
by the sacrifice of independence, of national 
character, and of whatever renders a people 
respectable. The natives may pursue their 
occupations as traders or husbandmen ; but 
none of them can aspire to any thing be- 
yond this mere animtd state of thriving in 
peace ; none of them can look forward to 
any share in the civil or military govern- 
ment of their country. The effect of this 
state of things is observable in all the Bri- 
tish provinces, whose inhabitants are cer- 
tainly the most abject race in India."* 

At the time when the able document from 
which the foregoing observations are taken, 
was presented to the Marquis of Hastings, 
a new conflict with the Mahratta powers 
was impending. Ten years of peace had 
succeeded the former struggle, and the old 
ap|)etite of appropriation had grown keen 
once more. On the mountainous frontiers 
of the Mahratta country, a wild and lawless 
race called Pindarries had for generations 
dwelt, who levied a capricious tribute from 
the peaceable inhabitants of the plains, and 
whose character, as their name bespoke, was 
that of professed freebooters. Being nu- 
merous and troublesome, the British govern- 
ment justly strove to induce the Paishwah 
and Scindiah, as well as the minor chiefs, to 
unite in ffeneral measures for their suppres- 
sion. Whether froxa indifference or ill will^ 
these powers evaded or neglected doing so ; 
and an excuse for aggression being desira- 
ble, this neglect was made use of as a jus- 
tification for demanding the cession of fur- 
ther provinces, and the augmentation of the 
subsidiaiy forces already quartered upon 
tliem ; or, in case of refusal^ for declaring 
war. 

To this mode of proceeding, Munro, in 
his memorial to Lord Hastings, strongly 
objected. He ridicules the notion of the 
Mahratta powers hazarding a war for the 
sake of the Pindarries, and urges multi- 
plied arguments, grounded alike on policy 
and hmnanity, against any further extension 
of the wretched subsidiary system. He 
recommends instead " the simple and direct 
mode of conquest fh)m without, as more 
creditable both to their armies and national 
character, than that of dismemberment from 
within, by the aid of subsidiary forces." 
He concludes by proposing that they should 
at once *' seize the districts" belonging to 



* Memoirs of Munro, vol: 1. p. 462, 465. Te»< 
thnony without end might be adduced conflmuH 
tory of these assertions 



INDIA — HUB OWN — AND ANOTHSRS. 



93 



Holkar^ Scindiah, and Meer Khan, where 
the Pindarries, as it was alleged, were har- 
boured.* 

Although we are informed that the ex- 
pediency of this last suggestion was " per- 
fectly in accordance with the sentiments of 
the Governor-general," f the arguments of 
Munro appear to have produced but little 
impression, regarding the system of piece- 
meal conquest, through the instrumentality 
of subsidiaiy forces. The' ill-&ted Paish- 
wah was required, in the beginning of 1817, 
to subscribe a new treaty of alliance, hav- 
ing, as was said, for its object, '^ the more 
convenient mode " of providing for the dis- 
charge of the engagements already in force," 
with the Company. X The meaning of this, 
when imwrapped from its official swaddling 
(or swindling) clothes, was this : Lord 
Hastings becoming aware that " his High- 
ness the Paishwah," after twelve years' expe- 
rience of the subsidiary force, that had been 
hired out to him by the treaty of Bassein, 
was beginning to entertain serious misgiv- 
ings 01 its efficacy for the purpose it, was 
professedly granted for, namely, " his per- 
manent protection, honor, and prosperity ;" 
they therefore resolved that the best means 
of quieting his doubts, or at least of silenc- 
ing all complaints on the subject was to 
double the dose of mercenaries, and €uxspt 
£rom his Highness an additional province 
or two ''as compensation for theur main- 
tenance.^ § The wretched prince in vain 
expostulated, and attempted to avert this 
new humiliation. But the heart of aggres- 
sion is hard; no evasion or alternative 
would be listened to; "we surrounded him 
in his capital," says the Governor-general, 
" and obuged him to submit to terms which 

Preserved ancient appearances, but deprived 
im of much strength for future machina- 
nations :"* and on Uie ISth June, 1817, the 
Paishwah was coerced into signing a treaty, 
whereby he alienated to the Company, the 
provinces of Sangur, Huttah, and Darwar, 
containing no less than 10,000 square 
miles, II and yielding a revenue estimated at 
£350,000 a year, f 

The Paishwah hankered after the fair 
provinces of which he had thus been divested 
ere the ink of the treaty was dry* He fled 
soon after from his capital, wherein he 



Amraal Kegister for 1819. 

Munro, toL L 4^. 

Idem, 457. 
^ Idemi p. 457, 458. 

I Note to Map preflzed to Harquis WeOesley's 
Demtefaes. 
^ Manro^ lit supra. 



might well feel that he was no longer 
either its master or his own. And upon his 
refusal to retium, the British government 
declared that they had been insulted, and 
war was forthwith proclaimed. Meanwhile 
the tone assumed towards Holkar and Scin- 
diah, had warned those chieftains that their 
only hope of preserving their independence, 
lay in making common cause against the 
insatiable aggressor. A defensive league 
was formed between the four principal 
Mahratta states, including the Rajah of Be- 
rar ; and considerable efforts were made to 
revive the national spirit of the people. 

But it was now too late. Faction and 
the quelling influence of foreign garrisons 
had done their work. The governments 
had lost all unity, all nerve ; and the people 
had been suflered to forget the honour and 
the rights of their race, and tacitly to ac- 
quiesce in the usurpations of an alien power. 
The duration of a foreign yoke has far 
less to do with its strength, than the tem- 
per in which it is borne. Time doth not 
run against the sovereign claims of nation- 
hood, provided those claims be kept alive, 
and oi force in the minds of the many, by 
the secret or open observance of the sacred 
rites of freedom. But when these are suf- 
fered to die out, the shrine hath no longer 
within itself, that whereby alone it can be 
defended. It falls defenceless because in- 
defensible. The trampler comes, and en- 
tering, wonders that a dome so vast should 
have no guardian deity within ; and thinks 
within himself as he surveys the physical 
strength that withstood him not,— how in- 
domitably might not have these resisted, 
had the tutelary sphit still been here ! 

Malwa was invaded in 1817, by a strong 
force imder the command of Sir J. Mal- 
colm. Jeswunt Rao, by whom Lord Lake 
had been baffled in 1805, was dead ; and a 
minor, surrounded by a profligate regent, 
and intriguing ministers, now occupied 
the place of rule- The presence of the 
invading army hardly sufficed to recall 
the various internal factions to a sense of 
their danger and their duty. A revolution 
in the administration was effiscted, whereby 
all those whose treachery or wealmess had 
left their country open to the English, were 
displaced, and able men summoned to pro- 
vide for the public safety. But the oppor* 
tuniQr for eflfectual resistance had gone by ; 
a sanguinary engagement took place at 
Soopra on 21st December, in which the 
British under Sir T. Hislop were victo- 
rious ; and in January, 1818, a treaty was 
I dictated by the conquerors, mi signed at 



94 



INDIA— HBB OWN ^AND ANOTHKB 8. 



Mundissor, whereby the sovereignty of 
Kaiideish, 12,430 square miles in extent, 
was resigned for eyer by the house of 
Holkar :* ''the British government thus 
relieving them from the anarchy which 
lately prevailed in their state, "f 

A memorable instance, however, of the 
devotion wherewith the people still clung to 
the last hope of independance, is recorded in 
a letter from Sir T. Hislop to the com- 
mander in chief, dated 28th February, 
1818. 

The Killedar of Talnier had determined 
to hold his fort to the last extremity for his 
native sovereign, and if assailed to resist by 
arms. This resolution was decreed by the 
English general, to be ''rebellion" to the 
Company, and the King of Great Britain ; and 
a letter was addressed to the brave chieftain, 
admonishing him of his guilt, and " warn- 
ing him of the consequences." The Kille- 
dar refused to yield, and a cannonade was 
forthwith opened on the devoted fortress. 
After some time, finding that the outworks 
were giving way, and seeing that his troops, 
who, by the confession of the victors, fought 
with admirable skill and bravery, must eventu- 
tually be overpowered, the Killedar sent to 
offer terms. Unconditional submission wou Id 
aione be. granted; and some delay having 
occurred in opening the gates, the fire was 
recommenced against them. Upon the 
stonning pafty entering, they were met by 
the chief and his attendants in an attitude 
of submission. " They advanced through 
another gate, and found the fifth, which led 
into the body of the place, shut, and those 
within still insisting upon terms. After 
some delay the wicket of this gate was 
opened from within ; Colonel Murray and 
Major Gordon entered with two or three 
ofiicers and ten or twelve grenadiers. They 
were immediately attacked by those within, 
and before adequate aid could be given, 
struck down. Major Gordon and Captain 
Macgregor resigned their invaluable lives 
on this spot, and Colonel Murray was 
wounded in several places. Thirty or forty 
grenadiers having now succeeded in getting 
through the wicket, the garrison took shel- 
ter in the houses in the fort, whence they 
still opposed an obstinate resistance; but 
the remainder of the storming party Imving 
by this time got into the place, the whole 
garrieon, consisting of about three hundred 



* Malcolm, vol. i. chap. vii. 
t Besp. Gov. Gen. to Secret Com. 33d January, 
18ia 



men, were put to the sword : a severe ex- 
ample indeed, but absolutely necessary.'* 

This is bad enough, but similar cruel- 
ties are, perhaps, inseparable from every 
species of war; the exasperation of recent 
loss will inhumanise an excited soldiery at 
all times; and their leaders will be ever 
tempted to extenuate, on that most conve- 
nient of all grounds— necessity, what many 
of them would never have commanded. 
But no such apology can be pleaded for the 
miserable vengeance that followed the tak- 
ing of Talnier. We shall not trust our- 
selves to tell the tale, but allow the hero to 
be his own historian. 

" I ordered the Killedar to be hanged on 
one of the bastions, immediately after the 
place fell. Whether he was accessary or 
not to the treachery of his men, his execu- 
tion was justly due to his rebellion — (rebel- 
lion!) — in the firat instance, particularly 
after the warning he had received in the 
morning."* And this is Christian warfiure ! 
And with such deeds reeking in the face of 
heaven, the spread of civilization by means 
of conquest is trumpeted forth in the stunned 
ears of intelligent nations. 

" The complete overthrow" of all that 
still subsisted of the Paishwah's govern- 
ment had been discussed at the commence- 
ment of the war, as the punishment his 
faithlessness deserved, f Destitute of t^ 
sources, talents, or popularity, the miser- 
able fugitive was soon hunted down,^ and 
marched back in triumph to his capita], 
where, in addition to the cessions which 
had been wrung from him a few months 
before, Konkan, Poonah, and other dis- 
tricts were now appropriated by the vic- 
tors. The extent of these last acquisitions 
was about double that of the former. 
Nothing further remained to be taken from 
him bur his title, which '< a pontile moral 
necessity* required to be abolished. 

Ahmedabad was taken from the Guick- 
war and permanently retained ; but the 
greatest sufferer in extent of dominions, was 
the Rajah of Berar. The whole of his 
possessions became virtually annexed to 
those of the Company ; and from this pe- 
riod, 1818, Berar and Poishwah cease to be 
reckoned for any political purpose among 
the powers of India. As in the Camadc 



* Letter of Sir Thomas Hialop, Lieutenant- 
General, to the Commander-in-chief. Annual Re- 
gister for 1818. 

JMunro, vol. i. p. 472. 
Annual Register for 1818, e, xvti. 



n)TL. 



95 



from an earlier period, dim discrowned roy- 
alty was still retained as an implement of 
taxation ; but power, rank, influence, sover- 
eignty, or even personal independence, — the 
heirs of these once haughty thrones have 
none ; and as befel the too pitiably famous 
prince of the Camatic, they will in due 
time cease to be maintained, even for the 
vile uses they are now applied to. By and 
bye they will be kept no longer. 

Munro, writing to George Canning in 
1820, says, — " Hyderabad and Nagpore* 
were once great independent states. But 
both are now as completely dependent upon 
us, as Mysore. They must at some period 
or other fall entirely into our hands ; and 
the internal administration must in the 
mean time be chiefly directed by our Resi- 
dents. No skill can make a country pros- 
perous under such a system, "f 

As for Scindiah, his fate was somewhat 
diHerent. His power, as the head of a 
great confederacy, had no longer an exist- 
ence. The lesser chieftainries had lain be- 
tween his kingdom and that of the Com- 



* The dominionfl of the Nizam and the Ri^ah 
of Berar, of which Hyderabad and Nagpore were 
the capitals. 

f Munro, voL ii. p. 62. 



pany ; and wide as the throat of conquest is, 
its instinct of repletion has occasionally 
been found to cry — enough ! and grant an 
involuntary respite, where there was neither 
heart to compassionate, nor wish to spare. 
It lakes no ordinary powers of imperial 
appetite to take in upwards of 100,000 
square miles of prey at a meal, even though 
diversity of names and characteristics pro- 
voke desire, and stimulate digestion, until 
these should be thoroughly masticated and 
absorbed, gentle nature could not proceed 
in its vocation ; and Scindiah was reserved 
for a more convenient season. Meanwhile, 
however, his dependency was anxiously se- 
cured. "After witnessing the ruin of the 
Paishwah, his dreamy of grandeur were 
laid aside for ever. He entered into close 
alliance with the English, abandoning the 
old associations of his race; for he was 
only able to preserve his dominions, by a 
departure from all that is deemed honour 
by iiis tribe. He has submitted to the 
great revolution that has occurred; and 
viewing the struggle for superiority as past, 
is forward to recognise the permanent sway 
of the British goveniment."*- Such are 
the contemplative musings of the conqueror. 

* Malcolm, vol. 1. chap. vii. 



IDYL. ^ 

FROM B I O N . 

The tall and lovely Cypris, as 1 slept, 

Drew near my couch ; in her white hand she led 
Her beauteous boy, whose basliful eyes were kept 

Still on the ground, and thus the Goddess said : — 
To thee, O well-beloved swahi, I bring 

My infant Eros : teach him how to sing. 

She spoke and vanished : I, alas, be^i 
To teach the willing unp our rusuc lays ; — 
How Hermes gave the lyre in mythic days ; 

Athena the soA; lute ; and forest Pan 

The unequal reeds ; and how the shepherds praise 
Apollo for the harp ; whereat the cnild 
Tossed his superior head in scorn, and smiled. 

And lo I the little egotist broke forth. 

And snng to me of love ; and deftly taught 
Of mortal loves, and those of upper birth. 
And of his mother's deeds in heaven and earth. 

In sooth, what wonder that I soon forgot 
All I had told him ; while the strain he sung 
Still lives within my heart, and on my tongue I 

• W. D. 



96 



ABT-UNI0SI8 AT HOME AND ABROAD. 



ART-UNIONS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 



In instituting any comparison between 
these societies, as indicated by our heading, 
vfe are influenced by three motives, — an ar- 
dent desire for the success of the Art-union 
established amongst us, — a conviction that 
from its present constitution, it must fail 
to obtain the great objects of its formation, 
— and an equally sincere conviction that, 
by the adoption of the leading principles 
of the Scottish and other Art-unions, snch 
a constitution may be given to our Irish 
Society, as will not wear ont in the work- 
ing, but will gather force as it rolls on, 
and ensure a lasting prosperity. 

In entering upon a subject that awakens 
our warmest interest,— one on which the 
advancement of the fine arts in Ireland 
now mainly depends, — so many subjects 
force themselves upon our consideration, — 
so many visions float before our fancy's 
eye, so many reasonings rush upon us, as 
to render it necessary that we should re> 
duce the heterogeneous mass of thought 
to order ; and to this end, we shall divide 
our subject into heads. We shAl, in the 
first place, glance at the general purposes 
and original formation of Art -unions ; se 
condly, we shaU endeavour to give cone 
statistical acoomit of the history and pro- 
gress of these societies, as established in 
Scotland and England ; and lastly, having, 
as we trust, we shall, by our resume of 
what has been done, — prepared our readers 
for the true and unbiassed view of the sub- 
ject, we shall point out what we conceive 
to be erroneous or defective in the consti* 
tution of our society, and shew what there 
is in the peculiar state of the arts in Ire- 
land, to require the adoption and strict 
adherence to the Scottish principle of 
** home'* patronage, — and how, by a slight 
remodelling, the necessary reform may be 
obtained. 

Here, in limine, we beg to disclaim any, 
the slightest intention to undervalue the 
exertions that have been made to establish 
the Irish Society, or to underrate the 
success which, so far, it has obtained; 



on the contrary, we would, in the strongest 
terms, record our sense of the disinterested 
zeal, and the unwearied exertions exhibited 
by its early promoters, — more particularly 
by its excellent Honorary Secretary. To 
that gentleman's zeal and taste for the 
fine arts, we are indebted for the first 
effectual starting of this society ; and to 
his unremitting exertions to obtain sup- 
port, for a degree of success, quoad funds, 
which has exceeded in its first year the 
most sanguine expectations of its pro- 
jectors. Indeed, such have been the zeal 
and activity exhibited so far as it has gone, 
that we should be almost disposed to trust 
to the Society's righting itself in its pro- 
gress — did we not feel that its ultimate 
success or failure must now be a ques- 
tion of national importance, — that, clogged 
with the present errors of constitution, its 
course must be impeded, — and that now, 
whilst both the society and its errors are 
in their infancy, is the best time, when it 
is most easy to amend the latter, and 
thereby render essential benefit to the 
infant society. 

To whatever cause attributable, it is 
very evident that the fine arts have at 
all times excited a livelier and more per- 
manent interest amongst oar Conlineiital 
neighbours, than in our << cloud capped** 
isles ; whether this is to be accounted for 
by the difference of temperament reeuiting 
from different temperatures of climate, in 
which latter our neighbours have a mani- 
fest advantage over us, — or, by their se- 
niority in the march of civilization, in- 
volving in its course the rise and fall of 
nations, which, even in their fallen great- 
ness, shed an odour of refinement over the 

more barbarous tastes of their destroyers, 

would be a question of philosophical re- 
search, not uninteresting, but misplaced 
here; perhaps, in the end, it would be 
found to be the result of these conjoint 
causes. There is, doubtless, much in the 
atmosphere about us, that through our 
physical frame, affects our moral tastes; 



ART-UNIONS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 



97 



Without circumscribing genius within the 
limits of mere geographical distinctions, 
— a general cult i ration of tastes, — a rari- 
fication, as it were, of the human spirit, 
will be generally admitted to be more com- 
patible with sunny climes, than with fog 
and frost-bound regions. In fact, though 
genius be of no country, the diffusion of 
a taste for its appreciation and encourage- 
ment will be found to be materially affected 
by the circumstances of clime, as rendering 
us more or less chained to the mere ne- 
cessaries of life, and conyersely, more 
or less alive to intellectual gratification; 
aboye all things, our social position, our 
education, and our haliits, in which we are 
but creatures of imitation, — superinduced 
by what chain of circumstances they may 
be, — affect essentially our tastes. That 
life was given to be enjoyed, not endured, 
— that labour is necessary for the mainten- 
ance of life, and recreation for its enjoy- 
ment, seems to be the very practical 
and sound philosophy of the Continental 
people ; hence, national recreation becomes 
with them an essential, — and hence, the 
diffusion of the taste for, and the zeal in 
the cultivation of those arts, which, through 
the medium of a pleased sense, rejoice and 
refine the intellect : but the converse phi- 
losophy, which views life with an utilita- 
rian eye, as one long, long toil,-— deems 
wealth the summum bonum, and labour, 
the means of its acquirement, — by the ap- 
plication of its ** cut bono** test, raises an 
almost invincible barrier to the cultivation 
of intellectual recreations, — << not dreamt 
of in such philosophy." 

Thus, the fine arts, combining in an 
eminent degree the useful and the agree- 
able, are centred in the affections of the 
people of more favoured climes; and the 
governments of those countries, aware of 
the importance of those arts, as influen- 
cing the perfection of all manufactures, — 
as also of their refining power over the 
habits of the people, in substituting high, 
moral, intellectual enjoyment for mere sen- 
sual pleasures, — have legislated for their 
cultivation, — and, by the establishment of 
national galleries, and national academies, 
by prizes, and other public encouragement, 
have sought to disseminate a taste for the 
arts, and to stimulate to the attainment of 
excellence therein. 

Even in utilitarian and money-loving 
England, the importance of these great 
arts has at last been felt, and after having 
been long left to struggle as best they might, 
under a very trifling share of royal pa- 



tronage, in the year of grace 1835-6, the 
House of Commons directed a committee 
to enquire into the state of the fine arts in 
Great Britain, with reference — still the 
<' cui bono*' test — to their influence on ma* 
nufactnres. Many eminent artists were 
examined, and much interesting matter is 
to be found in the printed report of that 
committee ; good has so far resulted there- 
from, that schools of design have been in- 
stituted for education in the elementary 
principles ; proportionate improvement and 
classical variety of design may therefore 
be looked for in our manufactures. It is 
to be hoped that the arts, thus brought 
home to our household gods, may graduaJly 
disseminate a taste and ambition for excel- 
lence in their higher departments, and that 
their value in the internal decorations of 
our temples or public buildings of whatever 
class, may soon be recognized. It is this 
that, more than any thing else, affords a 
stimulus to Continental artists, and gives 
employment to the chisel and the pencil. 
The history of great passing events is per- 
petuated in living colours on the walls of 
their public edifices, and in the galleries of 
their palaces, whilst the pages of Holy 
Writ, translated into the glowing language 
of art, supply appropriate adornment for 
their temples. By these means, occupation 
has been and is afforded in the higher de- 
partments of art ; and a further encourage- 
ment has been given by those wealthy in- 
dividuals, whose cultivated tastes sought 
the prodnctions of art to decorate their 
mansions, and whose wealth enables them 
to exercise their tastes. Still, a much more 
extended encouragement was necessary; 
the artist must be supported and encou- 
raged in his progress ; it is not enough 
that he can look forward with confidence 
to his reward, when he shall have climbed 
the weary steep of fEime, — that when a 
certain degree of excellence shall have 
been attained, he can be assured of occu- 
pation, — that his chefs cToeutre shall be 
greedily purchased up, — no, he must be 
tended on the way ; his spirit, often fiiint- 
ing in the weary task, must be soothed 
and stimulated to success; his works of 
promise^ with all their faults, must find a 
market, or he faint upon his way. Again, 
on the Continent numbers are induced to 
follow the profession, from the evident 
success of others, who perhap have mis- 
taken their powers, and at best rise not 
beyond mediocrity : in Paris, the artists 
number three thousand, of whom not 
three hundred may probably rise to eaii- 



98 



ABT-UNI0N8 AT HOMB AND ABROAD. 



nence^ — jet, the remaining number hav- 
ing wedded themselves to the profession, 
have it only to look to for support. On 
the other hand, a very large portion of 
society, whose tastes had been cultivated 
by the constant observation and enjoyment 
of works of art in public galleries, but whose 
means prohibited them inditidtudly from 
the purchase of such works, (which, if they 
be of merit at all, are, for the most part, 
of necessity, of a price beyond moderate 
means to aiford) were nevertheless anxious 
to gratify their tastes, whilst they en- 
couraged deserving artists ; and thus the 
system of Art-unions, or the combination 
of individual small subscriptions into one 
large sum to be expended in tbe purchase 
of works of art, was first struck out to 
meet these contingencies. 

The advantages of the cooperative sys- 
tem, as applied in Art-unions, became at 
once manifest, as may be evidenced from 
Professor Waagen's testimony before the 
committee of the house in 1835-6, when he 
talks "of those (Kunst-verein) which were 
established in Berlin by a number of indi- 
viduals, about ten years ago, under tbe 
patronage of the kin^, and the presidency 
of the minister Humboldt, which have had 
such success, with the annual subscription 
of 158.; the annual income is now £1,200, 
by which means several meritorious artists 
find employment, and good works of art 
are spread over the country ; and this Ver- 
ein has given so much satisfaction, that 
since then, eight others have bean estab- 
lished in the provinces of Prussia. Fur- 
ther, in Bavaria, Saxony, Wirtemburgh, 
and Hanover, similar institutions have since 
arisen, by which a feeling for, and an in- 
terest in the arts have been extended in 
an extraordinary degree in Germany." 
These institutions, by the addition of their 



small amount of local benefit, soon became 
valuable assistants to the more general and 
diffused encouragement of national art; 
and thus we find, that Art-unions origin- 
ating in an increasing public desire to 
possess works of art, conjoined with a 
liberal wish to foster native talent, were 
only intended to act as svuxedanea to more 
extended national patronage, and the ex- 
ercise of individual munificence, guided by 
refined taste, — by which means the ob- 
ject of high art can best be advanced. 

In the transplanting such institutions 
into British soil, it is evident some great 
change was to be looked for, either in the 
constitution of these societies, or in the 
new purposes to which they were to be ap- 
plied ; since, whereas they originally re- 
sulted from an increasing public taste, with 
perhaps an overstocked supply, they must 
in these countries be regarded as a means 
of creating an increase both of supply and 
demand, — as, in short, an experiment to 
produce in these countries the same effects 
which in other countries had called them 
into existence. That the system has been 
eminently successful, is sufiiciently proved 
by a single glance at the unparallelled pro- 
gress of the first institution established in 
Great Britain, — the Scottish Art-union, 
founded in 183 i. The experiment was 
first tried in Scotland, and as a state- 
ment of the annual amount of funds, up 
to the present year, will best shew the ra- 
pidity with which it has gained ground 
m public estimation — we subjoin a table 
of its receipts and expenditure, from which 
may at once be gathered, the mode of 
its operation, the rapidity of its increase 
in funds, and the total nroount of pecu- 
niary encouragement which it has con- 
ferred on the arts. 



Aswciationfor the Promotion of the Fine Artt in Scotland, established in 1634. 





Income. 




EXPENDITUBE. 










Amoant of 




Incidental Expen. 


Annual 




Subscriptions, fee. 


Works parcbased. 


EnrrBTiog. 


and reserved fund. 


Incrense. 




£ 8. d. 


£ 8. d. 


£ s. d. 


£ S. d. 


£ 8. d. 


Istyear, 1834-5 


728 14 


630 10 




98 4 




2nd year, 1836-6 


1,270 10 


868 


200 


162 1 


441 16 


3rd year, 1836-7 


2,111 10 


1,540 


300 


271 10 


840 10 10 


4th year, 1837-8 


3,367 6 4^ 


2,300 


600 


667 6 4^ 1,246 5 6k 


6th year, 1838-9 


4,879 9 lU 
6,603 9 ll} 


2,898 


998 12 li 


982 17 10 1,622 3 7 


6th year, 1839-40 


4,163 


1,060 


1,392 9 11§ 1,726 


Total for 6 Years 


16,952 11 li 


12,399 10 


3,098 12 ]^ 





AST-UNIONS AT HOHB AND ABROAD. 



99 



In contemplating the progress of this 
society, we are naturally led to inquire 
into the causes of its very great success ; 
and, independent of the general merits of 
the institution, based on the amount of 
pleasure which its proposed objects must 
always give the human mind, we are con- 
vinced that the main cause of its rapid 
progression is, its decidedly national cha- 
racter. The arts were drooping in Scot- 
land ; the exhibitions were not well sup- 
plied, since there was but little market, and 
badly attended, for the public were com- 
paratively indifferent to the subject. The 
Art-union was established to encourage 
Scottish talent, — to found a national school 
of art at home, and Scotchmen every where 
responded to the call of home. It was ob- 
ligatory that the works purchased should 
be the production of native or resident 
artists, exhibited in the Scottish Academy; 
by which increased attendance to the exhi- 
bition is ensured and private purchase sti- 
mulated ; and so far has the just regard to 
the natural first calls of family claim seemed 
anything but unjustly exclusive or illiberal, 
that the Scottish Art-union numbers among 
its subscribers, inhabitants of all portions of 
the three kingdoms ; from Dublin alone its 
subscribers for the past year amount to 148. 
It will be seen that in the second year a new 
feature was introduced into the institution — 
namely, devoting a portion of the funds to 
an engraving, of which each subscriber ob- 
tains a copy. This was a happy thought,' 
and, no doubt, has done much to swell the 
subscription lists : by it a threefold object 
is obtained ; while a portion of the funds 
goes thus to encourage the art of engraving, 
a prize is held oat to the artists — ^won by 
him whose work is selected to be engraved, 
and each subscriber receives in addition to 
his chance of a prize, a print equal in value 
to the amount of his subscription. 

The advantages of such institutions seem 
to have made a strong and deepening im- 
pression on the public mind, since we now 
find that most of the principal towns in Eng- 
land have established art-unions ; London, 
Liverpool, Birmingham, Bristol, Man- 
chester, Newcastle — and we' doubt not, 
others of which we have not heard, have 
each their association for the promotion of 
the fine arts. In Edinburgh a new associ- 
ation has sprung up ; and Dublin has its 
Royal Irish Art-union. Allowing the aver- 
age subscriptions of these eight societies 
for this year to have been £1100, which 
we believe under the mark — ^we have a sum 

VOL. III. NO. XVI. 



of £8800, to which if we add £6396*, the 
amount of the old Scottish association's 
subscription, we have a total of £15,196 
collected for and expended in the encou- 
ragement of the fine arts. This, in the in- 
fancy of art-unions amongst us, is no 
inconsiderable sum, and with the assumed 
prospect of its rapid increase to an annual 
income commensurate with the commercial 
importance of these realmsr, is calculated to 
call forth the energies of British artists and 
to stimulate to exertion ; it not* only pro- 
mises a market for numberless works of 
merit, which might not otherwise have found 
purchasers ; but it gives to the artist, who 
aims at excellence in the higher walks, an 
almost assurance that the public mmd, thus 
gradually drawn to the contemplation of 
art — enlightened and refined by acquaint- 
ance therewith, will naturally look to the 
best means of encouraging the highest de- 
gree of excellence ; that accustomed to the 
daily enjoyment of art in their own man- 
sions, they will inevitably look for a similar 
but higher source of pleasure in the em- 
bellishment of their temples and other pub- 
lic edifices. 

We have already alluded to the estab- 
lishment in Edinburgh of a new association 
for the promotion of the fine arts in Scotland 
— this was in the year 'S7-8j and originated 
in dissatisfaction with the working of part of 
the system of the old society, which was 
the selection of the works of art by a com- 
mittee. The new society, in common with 
the London, and most of the art-unions estab- 
lished in England, started on the principle 
of dividing its funds into large and small 
sums — ^to be drawn for by the shareholders 
— the winners being entitled to select 
pictures from the exhibitions to the amount 
of the several prizes : that this is the true 
system we are convinced on many grounds. 
The advantages to the subscriber are mani- 
fold ; it induces him to visit — not once — 
but frequently, the exhibition ; it obliges 
him to study and compare the various 
merits — ^his taste must be exercised and 
ultimately improved : it enables him to se- 
lect a work suitable in size and subject to 
his mansion and its general arrangements, 
— and being selected to gratify his particu- 
lar taste, his prize is more likely to be con- 
stantly regarded with pleasure, to be cared 
for and estimated at an increased value — 



* Biiierent from amoont as in the table i^ven, 
in which is included balance from last year, bank 
interest, fcc. 



100 



ABT-UNIONS AT HOME AND ABHOAD. 



whereas^ works selected by a committee-— 
however judiciously — ^if disseminated by lot^ 
must occasionally fall nud-a-prcpos ; a 
work of high yalne will sometimes fall to 
the lot of one by whom it is little estimated, 
as being not to his taste or mnsuited to his 
residence, and is willingly disposed of for 
one-sixth of its valae : the contrary will as 
often happen, and thus discontent or indif- 
ference be ultimately generated. On the 
other hand, it is urged by the committee 
advocates, that the interests and advance- 
ment of the arts are better cared for when the 
selections are made by an elected few of 
acknowledged taste — that there is less 
chance of personal favouritism to artists — 
that a stamp of merit is given to the works 
thus selected — ^that it is a more convenient 
plan for prize-holders not residing in the 
vicinity of the exhibition — finally, that the 
division of the money into prizes is attend- 
ed with many dangers and difficulties ; for if 
done with reference to the prices of parti- 
cular pictures, the objects of the society 
must often be defeated by the winner of 
any certain prize differing in jmlgment or 
taste from the committee, and if divided so 
as to give the best distribution of the funds, 
the results would be to encourage the 
lower priced pictures, or to cause a compro- 
mise of price on the part of the artists. 

To these arguments we would reply that 
a committee elected as are the committees 
of art-unions, have no right to arrogate to 
themselves the censorship of art ; they are 
appointed by a public society to disburse 
funds under certain regulations — ^in so doing 
to exercise their taste and judgment. Any 
factitious stamp of merit which may be 
thereby given to the works selected, we con- 
ceive to be a positive evil — ^inasmuch as in 
the constitution or election of such a com- 
mittee there is no sufficient test of the ca- 
pabilities or suitableness of its members for 
so high an office ; further, they are irres- 
ponsible beyond the conscientious expend- 
iture of the society's funds ; whilst their 
judgments are as liable to be influenced by 
their peculiar tastes as those of more ex- 
tended bodies ; and taste or zeal not being 
always commensurate with knowledge, there 
can be nothing in such selection of parti- 
cular works, or the omission of others, that 
ought to mark them with the stamp of 
taste or the fiat of judgment. It is pre- 
tended that it is necessary to lead the pub- 
lic taste ; we deem that the selection of 
works of art by a committee so constituted, 
is not the way to do so. We know that the 
public taste soon educates itself^ and that 



in any exhibition the works of most merit 
are those generally most admired by the 
public. There is» moreover, an injustice 
to the artists in the prestige of judicial 
power on the part of the committee, beyond 
Its unfitness in constitution ; so long as its 
decisions must be influenced by the amount 
of funds at its disposal, the best division 
thereof, and many other matters extraneous 
altogether of the question of merit. Even 
were the committee properly organized, and 
admitted to be the arbiter eUffafUianan, 
there would be little gained for the interests 
of art generally, so long as works so se- 
lected were to be distributed by lottery — 
liable as that mode of distribution is to the 
evils before pointed out. These evils are 
clearly obviated by the exercise of choice 
by the prize-holders — silly choices might, 
it is true, occasionally be made ; but as the 
editor of the " Art-union** remarks, in allu- 
sion to this same topic, " the best of us 
have prejudices and partialities, and a wrong 
judgment in them (the committee) would 
be a thousand times worse than a score of 
silly choices on the part of so many private 
and irresponsible individuals, selectmg ac- 
cording to their own foolish fencies." 

With reference to the. chances of per- 
sonal favoritism to artists, we think there 
are as many, if not more, of such resulting 
from a committee as the reverse ; the mem- 
bers of a committee are necessarily few and 
generally known, so that if any artist should 
meanly seek to win favour for his works on 
personal grounds rather than on their 
merits, ho knows more easily where to 
direct such unworthy applications, when the 
right of selection is centered in a small 
body, than when it is more widely dis- 
tributed. As to the probability of prize- 
holders being influenced in their choice by 
personal friendship for particular artists, we 
cannot see the matter as a very heinous 
offence, or likely to be of frequent occur- 
rence. The chances against any individual's 
obtaining a prize are as the number of 
shares to one — or whatever number he may 
hold ; it would be difficult to calculate 
their complicated proportion against any 
prize-holder's just obtaining such a prize as 
would enable him to gratify his personal 
regard, without either an advance of money 
or a sacrifice as to pecnniair intf>rest — of 
which men are not over fond. Nor even 
supposing such instances to occur, can much 
harm be done; nay, the greatest good 
might often result therefrom, for many 
young artists have been stimulated and 
aided in their progress by timely purchases^ 



ART-UNIONS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 



101 



dictated more by friendly feeling than cul- 
tivated knowledge of art. The inconye- 
nience to prizeholders residing at a distance 
IS obviated by empowering a committee to 
choose for snch. With regard to the dif- 
ficnlty of the division of the funds, we 
would say — ^it is to be taken for granted, 
that cUl subscribers to such societies are in- 
fluenced by a taste for the objects they 
seek to promote ; and it then results, that 
the prizeholders are so many of those 
lovers of art who are fortunately enabled to 
indulge their taste by purchases to an ex- 
tent not limited by the degree of taste, but 
by the means at their control. It will often 
happen that the person having most money 
is not he of most taste ; but it is clear that 
every man is called upon to exercise his 
judgment, whilst no man is obliged to take 
a work of which he does not approve. And 
many, very many are stimulated to add to 
the amount of their prizes a sum necessary 
to procure works according to their taste. 
We think, by this system, that private pur- 
chase will be collaterally much increased ; 
which we would esteem the great desidera- 
tum and the most beneficial result of the 
establishment of art-unions. As to the 
objections of encouraging low price works, 
or cutting down in price, they are results, 
as far as they go, of both systems ; but 
even more likely to occur when there is a 
committee anxious to give the most general 
satisiiution — ^who to increase the number of 
prizes, must purchase many works from two 
to twenty pounds, and will not scruple to 
urge the limit of their funds or previous 
arrangements, as a reason for offering prices 
below those demanded by the lu'tists; in 
hci, they will feel called upon, as acting for 
others, to drive a good bargain — ^whilst of the 
prizeholders who come into the market, 
though some may plead the amount of 
their prize as the limit of their means, a 
far greater number will be found to add 
when necessary a sum to equal the price of 
the work which they desire to obtain, which 
thus becomes, as it were, enhanced in value. 
We come now to the introduction of art- 
unions into Ireland. In testing the appli- 
cability of the various systems, or any mo- 
dification of them, to the promotion of the 
fine arts at home, the precise state of the 
arts should be understood ; for that purpose 
we think a short retrospect of their history, 
during the elapsed portion of the present 
century, necessary. 

The dose of the last and the commence- 
ment of the present century found the arts of 
painting and sculpture somewhat prosperous 



amongst us ; at least, so far as that sufficient 
encouragement was held out| in such 
branches of art as were then most generally 
encouraged, to induce men of talent in 
each, to reside in Ireland. Although even 
then the crying evil of absenteeism was 
felt, yet enough of rank and property — the 
natural and legitimate fosterers of refine- 
ment generally, remained to give occupa- 
tion to many able artists. It is the high 
privilege, nay, the duty, of those possessing 
wealth and station to lead and to refine pub- 
lic taste; placed by the hand of fortune 
above the pressure of mere ordinary wants, 
they naturally turn their minds to the cul- 
tivation of those intellectual enjoyments, 
which, whilst they afford wholesome exer- 
cise to the faculties, combine instruction 
with gratification ; they build noble man- 
sions, and for their internal decoration 
naturally recur to the sister arts, painting 
and sculpture. Family affection and an- 
cestral pride alike dictate the perpetuation, 
by the aid of mimic art, of the good and the 
illustrious ; their mansions thrown open to 
admiring friends, or to the wondering gaze 
of humble tenants or passing strangers, act 
as the pioneere of art, lead the public to. 
its contemplation, and instil the desire of 
surrounding themselves, as far as circum- 
stances may permit, with similar enjoyments. 
It would be waste of time to seek to prove 
an admitted axiom, that the advancement 
of the arts is in intimate connexion with 
the existence of rank and property in any 
country; therefore, it will be easily con- 
ceived how as absenteeism increased in Ire- 
land, the arts '< paled and drooped ;*' when 
to the absence of a first class is added the 
total preoccupation of those classes, who 
must thereby have been forced forward in 
the scale of society — a moral vacuum being 
as impossible as a physical ; when we con- 
template how completely all classes have 
been absorbed in political strife — in a wast- 
ing struggle for contested rights, we cannot 
wonder that the fine arts should have fallen 
into the shadow of neglect. Indeed that 
they have continued to exist at all in this 
country, is mainly attributable to the exert- 
ions of the artists themselves, in their in- 
defatigable struggle against growing public 
apathy; nothing but that undying hope, 
which is a main ingredient in all mercurial 
temperaments, could have supported the 
Irish artists through the long night of ne- 
glect which they have encountered. The 
schools established by the Dublin Society 
afforded the young student the means of 
acquiring the mere rudiments of his art — 

H 2 



102 



A&T-UNI0N8 AT HOMB AND ABROAD. 



which, when after long years of anxions 
study he came to profess, he found— placed 
no where in society. 

The want of professional position was 
long- felt by the Irish artists ; they felt the 
necessity of that link of association which 
should force them as a body into a positive 
and recognised place, and they endeavoured 
to win the public &vour by exhibitions of 
their works, which were successful in pro- 
portion as they were few and &r between* 
At length they determined on forming 
themselves into a body, constituted similarly 
to the Royal Academy of London. In 
1823 a royal charter was obtained, giving 
certain immunities and privileges to a body 
of artists, consisting of fourteen consti- 
tuent members and ten associates; to be 
entitled the Royal Hibernian Academy of 
Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture. This 
was a step in advance ; but not much was 
gained thereby ; for though a grade of merit 
was thus established — a rank conferred on 
the most meritorious artists by ther bre- 
thren, and confirmed by royal charter; 
although the members were entitled to write 
R* H. A., and esquire after their names, no 
virtual rank wi^ conferred — the public felt 
no sympathy with or interest in the Royal 
Hibernian Academy, which had thus a name 
indeed, ** without a local habitation.** 

It is to the munificence of an individual ; 
to the high-minded and well-timed liberality 
of a member of their own body, that the 
academy, and through them the artists of 
Ireland, for ever owe the deepest debt of 
gratitude. Francis Johnston, a man to 
be revered by every man to whose heart the 
interests of his country are dear — F&ancis 
Johnston, the eminent architect, erected a 
temple for the fine arts , at an expense of 
not less than £6,000 ; and with a munifi- 
cence, enhanced in proportion as the arts 
were then neglected, presented it to the 
members of the Royal Hibernian Academy, 
and to their successors /tt ever. That this 
act is not so generally known as it ought to 
be; that this good citizen — shunning the 
bright glare of political distinction, liber- 
ally, yet unostentatiously working out prac- 
tical good to his country, is not more often 
heard of, is a natural result of the depressed 
state of the arts. When, however, the 
turmoil of pohtical strife shall have sub- 
sided; when the arts shall have assumed 
their wonted soothing influence over the 
minds of men ; when that temple of the 
arts shall be more frequented, the name of 
Francis Johnston emblassoned on its 
walls will be more often ready more highly 



prized, and £une borrowing the pithy 
epitaphic motto of another great architect — 
may, pointing to the edifice, breathe alood, 
'* Si monumentum quaaris, circumspice !*' 

A great benefit was thus effected. The 
artists became a recognised bodv, and they 
possessed suitable accommodauoas for an 
annual exhibition of their works. The firat 
exhibition excited much public interest ; an 
interest, alas ! which has gradually declined. 
The artists struggled to maintain their an- 
nual exhibition: but, few in number and 
without the encouragement of a market for 
their productions-— fidr purchasers there 
were almost none — ^it became a matter of 
yearly encreasing difficulty to find works to 
cover their walls.The pubhc, when by chance 
they did turn their attention to the subject, 
only deplored the decreasing interest (^ 
the exhibition ;in fiust it became the fi«hion 
to decry even the modicum of merit to be 
found there. But the public never supplied 
the necessary stimulus ; no purchases were 
made, and native talent continued, as it had 
long been foroedy to migrate to other mar- 
kets where something might be gained. 

While matters gradually assumed this 
disagreeable phase, as reganied the advance- 
ment of art generally, the academy was not 
unmindful of its greatest fiwction — the 
instruction of rising artists. Mr. Johnston 
had not long been spared to watch the pro- 
gress of the profession which he had so es- 
sentially benefitted ; but the mantle of his 
fostering care fell upon one worthy in every 
way to wear it. His widow, a lady whom 
even the fear of being thought to flatter, 
cannot prevent us from naming as one 
claiming the warmest gratitude of her fel- 
low citizens, with a similar spirit of en- 
lightened liberality, ministered to the wants 
of the arts of her country ; the academy are 
indebted for their sculpture gallery, and for 
many of the splendid specimens of ancient 
art tha) adorn it, to the munificence of Mrs. 
Johnston. By this addition to their internal 
accommodation — by presents of casts from 
the Marquis of Anglesea, Sir Thomas 
Lawrence and othera, and of a valuable 
library from the late Mr. Edward Haugh- 
ton, the academy were enabled to found the 
various schools for the instruction of 
students. The '* sinews of war," needed in 
proportion as the exhibitions were unre- 
munerative, have been in some degree sup- 
plied by a small annual grant from govern- 
ment of £300, which barely sufiidng for the 
pressing wants, is so far of moment, as 
shewing that even in the highest quarter a 
certain impoitaiice is attached to Um objeett 



AKT-tnnoird at romc and abroaix 



103 



of tlM •eBiikmj. It oaght perimps to be 
iMBfioiied here, as a proof ot the constant 
aidour of the artists for the promotion of 
their art, that no pnblic body adBbrds a simf- 
lar evidence of disinterested zeal to that of the 
Royal Hibernian Academy ; no officer of 
that bodr receiving any remuneration for 
bis services^ excepting the secretary, to 
whom a smaJl som is aDowed, barely ade- 
quate to defray the expense of clerkship 
nec eo s a i y i& his labours. With all this 
seal within and friendly aid without, the 
objects of the academy must be frustrated 
so long as the artists' labours remain unre^ 
wardec^tbeir works nnpnrchased ; nor* can 
they look for that sealous attendance in 
their schools, antil aspiring students receive 
through the medium of rewarded professors, 
a stimulus to exertion, a pabulum for their 
ambitioA. 

If we have been somewhat lengthy in 
this retrospect, it is because we believe it 
bears essentially on the matter in hand ; it 
affords us our best guide to the selection of 
a principle of art-union suited to Ireland, 
and it leads inevitably to the conclusion 
that that system should be purely national. 
This brings us more immediately to the 
discussion of what we conceive to be the 
errofs in the constitution of the Aoyal 
Irish Art-Union. In common with all the 
friends of art, we hailed with hopeful plea- 
sure the establishment of such a society 
amongst us, because we thought it was 
their intention to spend their money at 
home ; to devote their capital to the eaphit- 
iUicm of native talent. Well, what has been 
the result? In round numbers^ £1,285 
was eoUected, a sum quite equal to, if not 
exceeding anything anticipated, in the first 
year; of this fdlly two- thirds — £816 7«. 
leaves the country, while only about £275 
is expended at home. Surely this is not a 
common-sense mode of encouraging native 
talent I It is no answer to say that a por* 
tion of the money sent out of the country 
was to Irishmen ; though we should ever 
and every where wish to see Irish genius 
estimated and encouraged, we think it a 
primary principle to encourage rendenee — 
to discourage abienteeitm ; and so long as a 
work ot merit is to be found, produced at 
home, the funds of the society should be 



* We quote from memory, but we belieye ac- 
e vakely, there being as yet no publwhed report of 
a» traDsactUNOs of the society. Why Is this ? 
aU other aaeociations print their report; it is 
necessary for the satisfaction of members, and 
useful even ss advertisement. 



devoted to its purchase. ** Be just before 
you are generous,'* is a wise adage : to ex- 
pend the money of an Irish art-union in 
the purchase of works produced in Ireland is 
justice; to expend it in the purchase of 
foreign works is that degree of showy ffe^ 
neroHty^ spuming the shackles of domestic 
claims, which the short-sighted admire — 
the wise condemn. 

The line of conduct which has produced 
"the above-mentioned results has, of course, 
its conscientious defenders; nor must we 
lose sight pf their arguments ; they are 
simply these. They wish to raise the 
standard of taste in art by the introduction 
and diffusion of English works ; to enhance 
the interest of the annual exhibition ; to 
elevate the criterion of merit, and by allow- 
ing otir young artists to view their works in 
juxta position with the works of their more 
fieivoured brethren, to stimulate them to 
exertion and improvement. That these 
are objects of paramount interest we are all 
agreed. The mode of their attainment is 
that concerning which we differ ; we will 
entertain them seriatim — premising that 
in our advocacy of the exclusive system, 
we do it in no illiberal or narrow-minded 
prejudice against the talents of other coun- 
tries, but from a sincere desire to see the 
talent of our own worked out ; from a con- 
viction that this can only be obtained by 
that fostering care, which we hold to be the 
peculiar province of art-unions to afford, and 
which they can only effect by a judicious 
expenditure of their funds at home. 

To- raise the standard of public taste in 
art in' Ireland is, indeed, " a consummation 
most devoutly to be wished ;" but we deny 
that it is likely to be effected by the intro- 
duction and purchase of such English works as 
would fiurly come within the sphere of art- 
union patronage. The purchase of a few 
fourth or fifth rate pictures might insure 
the influx of many such to the annual ex- 
hibition ; but it is just in thos^ classes that 
the vices of any school are to be found ; and 
the public taste taught to admire such works 
— unbased on the great models of art — ^is 
more likely to be vitiated than elevated ; 
to mistake manner, a pleasing tone of 
colour, and captivating sur&ce, for the sole 
ends of art. That it is most desirable to 
have first class pictures of other schools con- 
stantly presented to the public eye is undenia- 
ble. The Royal Hibernian Academy sustain 
the truth of the position by even seeking such 
works to adorn their exhibition, and by pro- 
posing to pay the expense of transport of 
all works of eminent artists ; but these are 



104 



ART-UNIONS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 



works that for the most part must exceed 
in price the limit of art-union expenditure ; 
it is evident that artists will not be tempted 
to send over such works by the circumstance 
of an art-union's existence amongst us. 
How then is the object to be eifccted P In 
the first place, much is gained hj attract- 
ing the public mind to the subject. The 
human mind is eminently endowed with a 
longing after excellence, and the moment 
it becomes interested in any art or occupa- 
tion it begins to discriminate ; it rejects the 
bad and seeks the good. Incidentally we 
may remark here that the true basis of pub- 
lic taste — the true school would be a 
national gallery, with a selection of the best 
works of antient and modem art ; constantly 
and gratuitously open to attract and in- 
struct the public mind. It would be be- 
yond our purpose to dwell upon this sub- 
ject here, as it does not fairly bear upon 
the question of art-unioHs ; we may per- 
haps recur to it at some future period, it 
being one of great national importance. 
The main influence that art-unions can 
have on public taste is by the direct en- 
couragement of a national school of art. 
Hold out sufficient inducements to your 
native artists to work out their talents — 
enable them to live at home ; the residence 
of men of talent amongst you, with the 
exhibition and diffusion of their works, will 
do more to form a correct taste, than any 
occasional introduction of inferior foreign 
works. Besides, the majority of the picture 
loving public consists of persons who travel, 
and in these days of railway lieu;ility, have 
constant opportunities of seeing the best 
specimens at the fountain head. Artists, 
too, must frequently go abroad, to see not 
only the works of modern schools, but' to 
study the great old masters ; they return 
with improved powers, with elevated tastes, 
and if they find sufficient encouragement 
to remain at home, their works will be the 
hest means of improving the public taste. 
The argument for the purchase of English 
or other pictures, based on the consequent 
influx of such works to our exhibition, is 
connected with another consequence put 
forward by the supporters of this system ; 
which is the advantage to resident artists of 
seeing their works in such juxta position. 
We think we have shown that by art-union 
patronage,noinflux of works can be obtained, 
truly beneficial to the public — still less so 
to the artists ; the argument, to have any 
weight, is based on the supposition that 
there is nothing produced at home worthy 
of public patronage. In refutation of any 



such position, we have but to look to the 
exhibition of this past year, which, taken 
but as a promise of brighter things to come, 
we fearlessly-assert to be most creditable to our 
resident artists. We regret to say that 
there were there, works of art, produced at 
home, in every way worthy of approbation, 
left unpurchased, while the funds of the 
society were diverted to other objects not 
so legitimately forming the objects of its 
attention. This we think particularly hard 
on Irish artists — so long struggling against 
public apathy, to a certain degree in com- 
mon with their British brethren ; they have 
still more suffered under a baleful absentee- 
ism, while they have struggled to preserve a 
position for the arts through all. When the 
public at leneth came forward to aid them 
by an art-union, they had surely a right to 
have their claims admitted, nay more, to 
have the exclusive advantage of fosterage 
firom the society's funds, at least until a few 
years fair play should have placed them 
more upon a footing with their more 
fortUBe-mvoured brethren at the other side 
the channel. 

Were a society to start for the encou- 
ragement of native manufactures, would 
not common sense dictate the propriety of 
closing the market for a season against 
foreign productions, until by a proper irri- 
gation of capital — by a home competition 
for premiums judiciously distributed, they 
might be fairly able to compete with pro- 
ductions resulting from a long enjoyed 
similar system P Does not the same rea- 
soning apply to art ? It is said, ** shew tho 
young artist clever works — ^tell him, when 
you can paint like that, we will purchase 
your productions ;" this could only discou-' 
rage and damp his spirit. But purchase any 
work of his that evinces talent, you give 
him therefore the first spur to exertion ; 
he feels that he can produce something oi 
vcUtie — his first work purchased is to him an 
event — it marks an era I not— if he have 
the genuine spirit of art about him, which 
is essentially unworldly and disinterested ; 
not, we say, for the value of the money, but 
as an evidence of approval does he prize it. 
It stimulates his ambition ; if he continues 
to improve, continue to purchase ; if his 
works fall off or indicate negligence, let 
him suffer ; the purchase of his works will 
soon become a test of approval ; and he will 
gladly expend a portion of his earnings in 
visiting those emporiums of art, where his 
taste may be elevated and his judgment 
matured. 
It is here, therefore— -as to home pa- 



ART-UNIONB AT HOME AND ABBOAD. 



105 



tronage, that we think the Irish 
Art-uiiion have made their first mistake. 
They have, too, adopted and combined the 
e?il8 of both the Scottish and English 
sptems ; thej have a committee of selec- 
tion, which can onlj be advisable where the 
selections are to be from native works ; and 
they have thrown upon the market to all 
countries, a system which might find its 
best corrective, in the increased chance of 
the operation of patriotic feeling, from a 
diffosed right of selection amongst prize- 
holders. Let us not, for a moment, be sup- 
posed to impugn the motives or underrate 
the judgment of the noblemen and genUe- 
men who formed the committee of this 
year. We can only suppose them, in the 
discharge of their very difficult task, actua- 
ted by the most anxious zeal to decide 
justly. Our main objection to them is based 
on the principles and arguments, which we 
have elsewhere advanced against all simi- 
lar committees ; any errors, which, in our 
opinion they may seem to have made, are 
more fairly attributable to the erroneous 
principles in the constitution of the society, 
and to the want of more defined regulations 
and bye-laws. The committee are indeed 
chargeable with what we conceive to be a 
great error, in aUotting so large a sum as 
they have to the engraving. It is un- 
doubtedly desirable, when there is an en- 
graving, that it should be a good one. There 
is, peifiaps, no more efficient mode of en- 
listing subscribers, jthan the prospect of 
each receiving an equivalent for his sub- 
scription, with the added chance of a hand- 
some prize ; but it is opposed to all the 
objects and principles of the society, that 
the sum expended for engraving, £650, 
should so much exceed that expended in 
the original purposes of the society — the 
purchase of works of art, viz : £440, In 
no case has the Qum expended by the 
Scottish society, as may be seen by refer- 
ence to the table given, amounted to one 
fourth of the whole receipts — ^in this, our 
first year, it exceeds one-half. Conse- 
quently, many meritorious works have re- 
turned on the artist's hands, and the num- 
ber of the prizes was so small and so little 
yaried, as to cause much disappointment to 
the members. 

But the society is young ; it has taken 
strong possession of the public mind ; this 
is the time to amend any error in its con- 
stitution—to put it on such a footing as 
will point out its proper objects and ensure 
its success. We should most strenuously 
support Um Mloptioii of the principlea of 



the London Art-union ; which dividing its 
funds into proportionate sums, allows each 
prize-holder to choose for himself a work 
or works to the amount of his prize. This 
system, under proper regulations, seems to 
us most calculated to give general satisfac- 
tion, whilst it must advance the cause of 
taste, by the required exercise of the dis- 
criminative and critical powers of the prize- 
holders. Even if the market be left open, 
as we have before said, we think the frish 
resident artist has thereby increased chance 
of a sympathizing estimate for bis labours. 
If the committee of selection be continued, 
at least let the evils and difficulties, 
which are inevitably attendant on the 
system, be in some degree atoned for by a 
fixed principle of encouragement to native 
talent. Let the funds be devoted in the 
first place to the purchase of all meritorious 
works by artists retident at hams. In the 
second place, let the works of Irish artists 
resident anffwhere^ be the objects of the 
committee's selection; if there be any 
surplus, let it be expended in the purchase 
of works by British or other artists. This 
we look upon as an indispensable arrange- 
ment to obtain the great object in view — 
the establishment of a national school. 

We think these are subjects well worthy 
of the serious deliberation of the society, 
and we conjure them, in the spirit that 
seeketh *' truth rather than triumph"— to 
ponder over the simple fi^ts which we have 
here sought to lay before them, with a view 
to amending their constitution, and to the 
adoption of a true, wholesome system. 
Previous to the commencement of opera- 
tions for the present year, let them remember 
the magnitude, the importance of the objects, 
which, as their means increase, they will 
have increased power of obtaining ; let them 
recoUect that an Irish art^union has not 
the same purposes as the original kunst- 
verein of Germany ; that it is not to gratify 
public taste by enabling them to possess 
themselves, by a combinative system, of the 
overflowing produce of the artist's ttudio; 
but to establish a taste— to work out the 
talent of the country. Let them remem- 
ber how long the arts have suffered under 
apathy and neglect in Ireland ; that with 
the establishment of an art-union the day 
has seemed to dawn ; that upon them must 
now mainly depend, whether the aspiring 
student or more matured artist shall cling 
to his home, or wander to other countries to 
seek that encouragement denied him in his 
own. Let them acknowledge a claim in 

rmdmce, i»Ui«r thuM fttpm^nt aadmost 



106 



WtAMAB, 



mwixaabietUeeitm; sad then when increas- 
ed neliooel praeperitj tkall remit ffom llie 
dereloped resoorees of the coonUy — boih 
agricultaiml and mercantilfr— we mMj hope 
to 8ee Ireland eftand ae high in the esteem 



of enlightened Europe, for her reputation 
in the fine arts, as she is now piro ta$UQ, a 
bje-word amongst saon a cypher amongst 
nations ! 



BelieTing that the mUtjeei reqwres dweiMilop, and that all psrt>«B Bhould be heard, we hare much 
pleasure in preaenting the lorec^oinir psper to our readers. At the sane time we wish it te be 
distiDctlj andersteod, that we are not editorially reafooaible for it. While we agree with our 
esteemed correspondent as to the evifei of which he complftins, we cannot think that the remedies 
which he has proposed are, hi all their deCailSy the best calenUrted to effect the object which he in 
common with ourselves, has so nmeh at heart Hew far we agree with faim, and in what respects 
we difPer, will be fully seen when we return te the subject, which we hope to do at an early opportu^y. 
For the present we must content oorselyes with stating, that it is, above all, in his hostiUQr 
to a committee of selection, that we cannot agree with the aiUe writer of the precediag avtieie. 
We acknowledge that the present system re^juires somemodSAeation; but we can imagine nothing so 
likely to mar the utility, and impede the progress of our Irish Art union, as the adoption, in aU its pileli- 
and-toss stupidity, of the English lottery system. It ought to be remembered that the only society of the 
kind that has as yet realty prospered in Great Britain, is the Scottish Art-union, which has ad- 
hered throughout to the plan of selecting the prises by a committee of fifteen, ten of whom go out 
annually. This committee has already included among its members a large proportion of the moot 
eminent men in Scotland, and we must be allowed to think that the united suffrage of such a body, 
confers more honour on the artist, and is better calculated to adyance his interests, than the ei^ri- 
cious and uncertain patronage of individual prize holders Ed. 



^A^^^A^»^>^A^^^^^^»#M^M^^MM^»%#M»^<^WW^^i^V<g%^^»AA^^^M^4irf^^^»^WW^^»rf^»<^^^C 



STANZAS. 



Love has been my Irfe*s undoing, 

Left by him my joys are o'er, 
Yet my weak heart, pleased with ndn. 

Trembles on and sighs for ifaore. 
Woman's eyes, like serpents' gazes, . 

Pan us in their deadly ray, 
And if once the fierce flame blazes, 

Qods themselves can*t turn away. 

Flora first my soul enchanted. 

Heaven was in her eye and air, 
Tho' all day her path I haunted. 

Night still found me sleepless there. 
But, alas I the tender hearted. 

Faithless love will sometimes fly — 
So the nymph one night departed 

With a love more sage than I. 

Betsy's beauty next attracted, 

That I thought, at least, was true, 

But the moment Gold attacked it — 
Woe to me I it vanished too. 



Long my heart IS.y lone and blighted. 
Half reaolred the world to fly, 

When by chance its ruin lighted 
Kear the flame of Mary's eye. 

Heart or thought or fancy never 

Saw an orb more meekly shine. 
Saints themselves might dream for evor 

O'er what seemed so pure a shrine. 
Would you believe ? vrith all her scorning 

Those whonf faith had' cast away. 
Certain tell-tale sig^ gave warning 

She could trust ks' well as they. 

Som^ were sad, and some were sullen* 
Some too low, and some too tall — 

Some had hearts that each might cuB in, 
Some' I found had none at all*. 

Thus, alas I tho' long I sought it. 
Love's bright wing was seldom nigfk. 

Or if one kind hour I caught it- 
It the next was sure to fly. 



TBOIMfflTB AND FANOIS. 



107 



THOUGHTS AND FANCIES ON THINGS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 



BT A NOBTHBRN. 



**lsfi m tl» Tories. N« Me«d, oar skffl ift Eaitem lore wsms ns against ** new lamps for old.* 

» * 

" Qui hostem ferieC, ndhi Carthaginiensis.**— Hanhibaii. 



BvBTOK, in bis anatomy, compares a ' 
yoong man to a fair new house ; the carpen- 
ter leaves it well huOt, in good repairs ot so- 
lid stuff; but a bad tenant-— meaning th^eby 
bad habits and bad passions — gets posses- 
sion, lets it rain in, and for want of repara- 
tion, through recklessness, lets it fall to 
ruins ; and by and bye thistles grow and 
brambles flourish there. 

Ireland is a &ir and a pleasant land,— ''a 
most sweet country as any is under heaven." 
The Creator &shioned it surpassingly beau- 
tiful, and saw that it was good ; we dare not 
say that he blessed it* He defended it by 
an angxy sea, as a wall on every side. He 
gave It a soil fertile and teeming with all 
good things — ^with resources and capabili- 
ties immense-^with harbours where the 
fleets of Europe misht ride in safety. AU 
things productive of peace and plenty — all 
things that could minister to the happiness 
of the inhabitants — ^that could make a peo- 
ple great and flourishing, were lavishly be- 
stowed* But bad tenants obtained posses- 
sion. The original occupants were ousted. 
The fertile soil was left untilled. Famine 
instead of plenty stalked over the land. 
Happiness departed, and the misrule of 
the stranger occupied her place. Its re- 
sources were unemployed — its capabilities 
unheeded — its harbours flagless. Rapine, 
riot, and utter heartlessness guided the con- 
duet of these sew tenants. The poor peo- 
ple, the owners of the soil, were driven to 
the wilds and fastnesses, or were used as so 
many footstools Sot these proud foreiguers 
to tread upon — blocks to get on horseback, 
or, as walls, to be used as Launce s dog 
used the lady^s farthingale.* Their sword 
was their right, their title, and their deed of 
possession. By it the Plantagenets and the 



* Pauper paries factusi ^uem 
ndngant* 



com* 



Tudors ruled; by it the Stuarts and the 
Huntingdon brewer ruled; by it Ike 
phlegmatic Dutchman ruled ; the Hanove- 
rian Guelphs succeeded him of Nassau, and 
still the sword was the sceptre* Neverlha- 
less the original inhabitants could not be 
destroyed* Some generatious later, still km 
in numbers and in strei^;th, they found that 
union was power, and they acted upon it 
instantaneoosly. The Volunteers aroae 
throughout the land as if by the command 
of a sod. Their haughty masters were 
bearded to their teeth ; partial rights were 
acknowledged, partial equality obtained, and 
Ireland's independence as a nation was pro- 
claimed* 

This state of things lasted not long. The 
sword was abandoned ; the time for its use 
had passed. Craft and political swindling, 
known by the name of Toryism, were as- 
sumed in its place, and were almost equally 
successful. By them, and by the command 
of boundless wealth, through the instrumen- 
tality of Castlereagfa, Ireland was once moro 
laid prostrate, and her name blotted out 
from amongst the nations. £flS9cts similar 
to, though not so extensive, as those which 
resulted from the agency of the sword, fol- 
lowed. The growing pride of the people 
and the increasing prosperity of the country 
were rudely checked ; the princely mansions 
that had grown up in our capital suflfered 
from abandonment, as Burton's metaphy* 
sical building, from a bad tenant : they 
became hotels, schools, and warehouses. 
Our Custom House, once the evidence of 
our prosperity, and still a noble proof of 
our taste, became a nursery for the rising 
generation of rats; and that structure in 
College Green, that looks like some Grecian 
temple, called into existence by the wonder- 
working minds of a Perides and A^pnaift^ to 
look on which now, invariably puts us in a 
passion. Northern though we be, became the 



108 



THOUGHTS AND FANCIES 



costly mausoleum of a nation s liberties. 
Wealth fled the land with liberty, 

' " Potiore metallis 



Libertate." 

and once a^ain Ireland was apparently 
helpless and nopeless at the feet of her mas- 
ters. But there is a buoyancy in Irishmen, 
— ^there is a facility inherent m them which 
will not let them utterly despair. Time, 
with his influences, was at work — ^increasing 
intelligence was busy ; people collected their 
energies for the good fight, and, in a memo- 
rable struggle, the most galling of their 
bonds were burst — ^they became emancipated 
—energetic and hopeful for the future. 
Their chosen advocates fought hand to hand 
and shoulder to shoulder unflinchingly in 
the cause of Reform, against Toryism, its op- 
ponent, and all its deep-forged prejudices. 
The battle was won, and Toryism fell, to all 
appearance mortally wounded. Not so, 
however ; it possessed the vitality of some 
reptiles, which, cut and hack as you please, 
wul either unite their several parts again, or 
each atom will in time become a perfect and 
fuU-sn'own snake or worm, as the case may 
be. Thus Toryism withdrew itself for a time 
from the pubhc gaze, till its wounds gra- 
dually healed, and its several parts became 
once more firmly united. Then the work 
of vengeance commenced, under the influ- 
ence of the most deadly hate, against its for- 
mer slave and present overthrow. The 
sword could no longer be used, but there is 
an old and a true saying, that a *' blow with 
a word strikes deeper than a blow with a 
sword," on this hint business was commenced, 
and railings, scurrilities, libels, and lies were 
the weapons used, until the Genius of our 
land might take up the words of the Psal- 
mist, and complain, — ^that " she was full of 
the mockery of the wealthy, and of the de- 
spitefulness of the proud; for the voice of 
the wicked and their hate, her heart troubleth 
her." 

This mode of warfare is an old one. 
There were always creatures to be found, 
whose natural business it was to calumniate 
their superion. Thus Homer had his 
Zoilus, Achilles his Thersites, and Philip 
his Demades. Why then should not Ire- 
land have the Times, the Herald, and the 
Standard ? It is unavoidable and must be 
borne as we best may. The work was pur- 
sued with a gusto which shewed that these 
agents were working in their proper element. 
The eflfecta which invariably follow perseve- 
rance in any course soon shewed themselves, 
and people who knew not those calumniated. 



began presently to account these calumnies 
for truths. For this Toryism was waiting — 
this was the required 9rw tfru. This Stanley 
instantly seized upon, and following his 
former stringent measures, 

*' Mox datunis progeniem viticsioreBi." 

with consummate skil1,'great ability, and un- 
tiring energy, he set himself to work to des- 
troy the entire franchise of the Irish peo- 
ple,* and thinks to push from their stoob 
our present rulers, and seat his own party in 
their places. 

Wm Irishmen sufier this ? With them 
rests the brunt of the battle. Let them con- 
trast those who must succeed them with the 
present Ministry, who,however they may have 
failed to do an impossibility, nam^y, to 
please the various sections of the various 
parties into which reformers and liberals are 
split, are nevertheless the only men who 
ever showed a particle of kindness or consi- 
deration for the mass of the Irish naticm. 
I^t them contrast with those the Wellingtonsy 
the Plulpots, the Lyndhursts, and the Stan- 
leys. What a bill of faxe to set beforo 
Irishmen ! Men who would, if possible, re- 
duce them to a state approximating as 
closely as the spirit of the age would allow, 
to the condition which we have been des- 
cribing in the commencement of this article. 
The Soldier would treat us as perjurers. 
Did he ever find an Irishman proclaim him- 
self such by deserting his colours in the 
field P The Priest, the spiritual adviser of 
Sir Robert, is rampant for a monopoly of 
our souls, our minds, and monies ; the re- 
viver of the old maxim, — " Parcere subjectis 
et debellare superbos," forgetting that ** pre- 
ces et lachryma sunt arma ecclense, and 
that "Vincit qui patitur." The Lawyer in 
possession of Sir Kobert*s other ear, whis- 
pers him, — ^" Crush me those upstarts — 
those ' aliens in blood, language, and reli- 
gion.' " And the Aristocrat, in the Home 
Office, forgmg new chains for " the lost land 
— the commonwealth of wo," — ^but 'tis need- 
less to 



** Suggest the people, in what hate 



A BtiU hath held them ; that to his power 
He would luTe made them malesv nUmoed tktir 

pleadertf and 
DUpropertyd their flrwedoau." 

Are we then to have these people, with- 
out a struggle, for our rulers ? Oh yes. 



* We decline showing that tUs would be the 
result of the biU, it having been already so fre- 
quently and so powerAilly shewn^ that those that 
run may read. 



ON THINGS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 



109 



say the grumblers by oature, whom notbing 
pleases. Oh yes, say the carpers at foreign 
affiiirs — those who find fault with ministers 
for want of energy. Things are come to a 
pretty pass^ say the former, and cannot re- 
main as they are ; there's O'Connell, with 
his fireize coat and repeal button, running 
orer the laud like a will-o'-the-wisp ; and 
there's Father M athew going about wiUi the 
treasonable intent of persuadmg Irishmen to 
" live quietly, soberly, and chastely in that 
state of life unto which it has pleased God to 
call them." There are the Whigs and Tories, 
snarling at each other over die Downing- 
street marrow-bones, — ^the ferocity of the lat- 
ter, from their long fast, promisinff a wor- 
Tvinff by and bye ; there is the radical bull- 
dog biding his time, grim, sullen, and de- 
termined : and the chirast mongrel— across 
between the bloodhound and the cur — 
may, heaven knows how soon, again annoy 
respectable people, in obedience to the set- 
tled habits and propensities of mongrel curs ; 
although he has but lately, after shewing his 
teeth and perpetrating two or three threaten- 
ing barks, skulked away, with his tail be- 
tween his legs. The grumblers about things 
abroad, vent their displeasure in this wise : 
the Russian bear^ say they, is '* coming 
it rather too strong,' he seems as if he 
would make the universe his den. The 
linnsan system of diplomacy practised 
mider the auspices of the Brother of the 
Sun and Uncle of the Moon, has played 
the deuce with the opium merchants, and 
plunged us into a war of which nobody 
can foresee the end. France has tried hard 
to bamboozle us on the Mehemet question. 
The Canadas having, like firoward children, 
made two or three attempts to cut themselves 
loose firom the aprou-strings of the mother 
country, have been forced, in order to sober 
them down and keep them quiet, into the 
bonds of matrimony, although the banns were 
forbidden by some high and mighty per- 
sonages ; and, like every thing eLse in this 
world 



f( 



ezitmn 



Caliipnofa nocte premit Dens." 

And Brother Jonathan, though " going it 
like winter" on the borders, keeps a steady 
eye on the Maine chance. 

All this sounds gloomy enough, but still 
we have such confidence in the vis recupe- 
ratrix of the empire, that we value it not a 
button; and we would say to these prog- 
nosticators of evil, in the words of a meny- 
hearted philosopher and accomplished poet, 
though a toiy : — 



** Trouble not youTBelves, chUdren of ^content, 
I will take no hurt I warrant you. 
The state is but a little drunk, 
And when it has spued up that that made it so, 
It wiU be weU again — there's my opinion in 
short" 

And what is the remedy of these fault- 
finders? How would they set all these 
things to rights ? By a very simple process 
— ^by removing Lords Melbourne and Rus- 
sell, and placing in their chair the Duke 
and Sir Robert. Alas ! poor simple souls, 
they know not what they do ; in their in- 
tense '* cogibundity of cogitation" over what 
they are pleased to call the manifold evils of 
whiggery, they forget a very celebrated pas- 
sage in the history of Froggism. We will 
relate it for their edification : — It is written, 
that, once upon a time, those amphibious 
gentry sent up to Jupiter's foot-stool in- 
cessant complaints against their liege, king 
Log,'*^ to wit, that his government was a 
weak, mild, and somewhat sluegish go- 
vernment, that they, being hi^-spirited 
firogs, preferred a king like unto themselves, 
who would rule over them with a strong 
hand, and who would uphold the majesty of 
the laws with all the terrors of the executive. 
In an evil hour Jupiter listened to their 
complaints, dethroned king Log, and set 
over them king Stork. Dire was the com- 
motion raised in fix>g-land by the strong go- 
vernment of the new kin^; and dire was the 
repentance of all the denizens thereof, whon 
they found, as they very soon did, that, as 
it suited his pleasure or his appetite, his 
majesty gobbled them up by dozens, and 
called it " upholding the majes^of the laws." 

Ponder well, messieurs grumblers at 
Whiggery, upon the historical passage from 
the Chronicles of Froggism, which we have 
just related; for 

*< Mntato nomine, de te fabnla narratur." 

But wherefore should we, in obedience to the 
wishes of these people, exchange our " old 
lamps for new?" Are there suflicient 

grounds for the change ? What so great 
nits have we in rerity to find with the old 
ones ? Let us see. In Ireland Whiggery 
paralyzed and stnick terror into the hearts 
of Orangemen and purplemen ; ought that 
to be forgotten ? By Whiggery the Educa- 
tion Board was established ; it b not the fault 
of the Whigs if its operations are limited* By 
Whiggery tiie Tory Corporations were knock- 
ed on the head ; that Uiey were not utterly 

• Wle do not wish to to be undentood as typify- 
ing the Biinistem under the image of *' Sing Log,' 
it is the gnunbliDg gentry who do sa 



110 



TBMQVtn AlfD FAKOm 



^totroyed cannot be finrly hid to its cfaaige. 
In £Dgland chartism has been put down by 
the common law of tbe land; no eurfew 
edicts— ^o martial law — no Peterloo exhi- 
bitions. Spain, freed from Carlos and his Ca- 
breras, is struggling, honestly we believe, and 
successfully, we hope, for amended institu- 
tions. North America is' perfectly quiet. 
The Governor-General, Lord Sydenham, 
has conciliated the good-will of all parties, 
despite of the efforts made to the contrary, 
and the prophecies haxarded, that his advent 
would be the ruin of the Canadas. And 
Lord Palmerston's Egyptian policy, it is 
acknowledged on all hands, has been bril- 
liantly supported in the Calnnet, and man- 
fully carried out in the field. 

Those who accuse the Whigs of want of 
energy must wilfully overlook the campaign 
in India, the armaments in China, and their 
successes in Syria ; premptilude and energy 
has distinguished Uiem all. 

Beaten from all these points of imperial 
policy, where do the Tories and the grum- 
blers seek for weapons with which to assail 
ministers ? In the scandal-loving propensi- 
tie^^the passions and the prejudices of man- 
kind. 

" Fleetere si nequso Superos, AcheraatanNrvebo." 

For the pandering to the first the tattling of 
a few women, who, from sheer idleness gos- 
sipped about each other, as womankind will 
gossip, was laid hold of and bruited i^»road, 
with the evidently malignant purpose of 
incubating the Queen in the eyes of her 
people. For it was abundantly manifest 
that the Queen was altogether guiltless in 
the matter, and that the hope of gaining 
some political advantage, was the sole and 
only cause which could have induced them 
to drag her Majesty's name into the discus- 
sion at all. We Tnll take the liberty of ex- 
pi!SS0ing a wish that the ladies of the court 
had learned a little more charity and con- 
sideration than was exhibited on that occa- 
wnk, and of reminding them that without 
consideration and discretion, " a fiiir woman 
is like a jewel of gold in a swine's snout" 
We admit the resemblanee of the royal 
sage is rather coarse, its royalty, however, 
and its truth, must compensate for its 
eoarseness. '' The devil," says the Spanish 
proverb, " tempts all but the idle ; the idfe 
tempt the devil." The hitter piut of this 
sentence, we fear, may be considered fitirly 
applicable to the ladies o( all courts in all 
times. St. Paul too tells us that tattling is 
the eflect of idleness. It is to be regretted 
that the education of women of the higher 



tanks has not raised them thmm mAtOfgrn 
eutertaiiDMiits. 

Again, the presence of an obnaxieiis 
individual in a cnmded levee/-— etoex- 
ions from the o pi n k fuf wUch be held, 
was seized upon as a hieky windfall, by 
peers, spiritnal and tempera)/— by the for- 
mers of pnUic opinioQ, duly, weekly, month- 
ly, and quarterly— a molehiD was made a 
monntam, for the express purpose of atlMh- 
ing a personal stigma to Lord Melboime, 
and consequently, bringing his goTenmienft 
into disrq>ute in the eyes of the rigid righ- 
teous, and the rigid vris^— Arcades ambo.* 
Now, this presentation at court, of Mr. Ow- 
en, what was it at the worst ? It is to be rs- 
membered that he was the personal firieod of 
some of our greatest and best men. Sorely 
it was neChing more than an indiscietion, an 
error of judgment en the part of Lord Mel- 
bourne, reprehensible, so &r as shewing his 
carelessness, and his aversion to exacnune into 
minor matters. ''What he would highly, 
that would be Mtily/* seems to be Ins Lord- 
ship's princifde. This devil-mnr-eare-ish- 
ness, so frequently exemplified m his un- 
concern when attached in the Lords, and 
his mnff/rvid whm ceofessiBg his ignonmce 
on any qnestion, is reaSy wonderfii] ; it 
would be admirahle, perhaps, as kiAcative 
of consummate coolness and self-pos s e ssi oB, 
qualities so essentiail to a statesman, did it 
not imply an swersioD to hosiness, and a dis- 
like of details, highly r^r^iensfible in one 
who widds the destinies of the empire. If 
it cannot be got rid of, it shoold he nsanaged 
with a Httle more discretion, it shoold not 
be obtruded so recklessly on the notice of 
the public, lest that puWc should at length 
be inclined to ass«it to the truth of Cicero's 
maxim, *^ negligere quid de se quisqne 
sentiat, non sohmi arvogsntis est, sed etiam 
omnino dissohiti." It is to be hoped that the 
publicity given to the affitir of Mr. Owen, 
and the wonderiul magnitude into which it 
was puflfed, has tanght the careless premier 
a lesson, which he will not readily forget. 
If so, good instead of evil will result from 
this onset of Toryism. . 

By incessantly harping on sudi matters, 
and by unscrupulous exaggerations there^ 
upon, a feeling was created in the public mind, 
expressive of dislike towards her Majesty*s 
ministers, and hostile to that loyalt}' so cha- 
racteristic of British subjects. The feeluuc 
onc^ produced, was not for a moment sufieied 
to flag ; it was carefully fostered, and at the 
second point of attack an effort was made to 

* Vide ^aicnw,— the rigid ri^iteoee is a ftol; 
the r%id wise another* 



Oft TamoB AT Bona abo abboad. 



Ill 



RNiae the dumbenng jMinmt of the people 
iBto all die wildness mod heidlong viraleDce 
of party-^nrit. For the fbithenmoe of this 
second Acheronta-iDorebo plan, Jezabel 
M'Neile, CinUrbmj Biadahair, Gladetooe, 
tiie weU-poiaoning advocate, and the "too 
illuslxioiis Dr. PhilpoCs; that is to aaj, 
all that intolflraBce in any coimtiy, in 
any time, in any worship, has produced, 
moet violent, most hitter, and most incor- 
rigible,"')^ were let looser and halloed on 
to the imspaiing exercite of their peculiar 
talents. For ibod to the third* — for minis- 
tering to the pirtjmdiou of ages, especial care 
has been taken, amongst a variety of other 
things, to keep constantly before the Ptotes- 
tantism of Great Britain the astoonding fact 
that two Roman Catholics hold subordinate 
offices in the administration, and that conse- 
quently. Emancipation must be repealed, or 
die Pope will, by and bye, send an emissary 
to Lambeth, Old cause stakes to be re-erect- 
ed in Smithfield. These weapons, from the 
incessant, dexterous, and unscrupulous use 
made of them, served to a certain extent, 
the purpose of the Tory leaders, who, in the 
back-ground themselves, widi words of re- 
prehension on their lips, now and then, 
when their " operations," beoomiug un- 
guarded, waxed too furious, kept up a plau- 
sible appearance, and a shew of fiberality, 
chuckling all the while at the game that was 
a foot, the boldness with which it was 
played, and the apparent success that at- 
tended it; and calculating what time might 
elapse ere they could come openly forward, 
and pocketting the winnings, riot unre- 
strained, as in the good old times, on 
the riches of a duped and swindled people. 

The turmoil excited by these means was 
wearing itself out by its own violence, and 
there was every reason for h(»ing, that 
men's minds (these dirty tricks of Toryism 
havmg been seen through and despised) 
would have ouietly settled down into that 
state of confidence which marked the nation 
on the accession of her Miyesty ; when an 
event occurred which again set in motion all 
the elements of discoid that were rapidly 
subsiding. We allude to the defeat of 
ministers on the Jamaica question, and the 
three day's reign of Sir Robert Peel, brought 
about by radical disafl^tion consequent on 
the broaching the new doctrine of ** finality." 
This doclnneit was that first really weakened 
ministen, by raising up a strong feeling of 



* The Joomal das Bebats, speaking of the 
dlaeoaakai ea SooiaUam, tfana characterised the 



amongst a veiy powerful body of 
their supporters throughout the kingdoai; 
and with some shew of reason too. 

We remember, when ministers conceived 
it necesaaiy to make a stand, and erect this 
barrier of ** finality" against the encroach- 
ment of the pecmle, whom they, themselves^ 
were among the first to teach how to use their 
power, how forcibly we were reminded of 



« Some that nourish up 



Young lions, till they grow so great they are 

afraid 
ThemaelTes : they dare not grant at last 
For fear they should not sai^e.*' 

When Lord John and his chief, forgetting 
their early principles, set up this doctrine of 
" finality," and talked about the evil conse- 
quences likely to ensure from the progress 
of radicalism and what they were pleased 
to call sedition and democracy ; we wonder 
they were not haunted with the ghost* of 
the Roman Satirist's line. 

« Quia talent Gracchoa de aeditione quarentea?" 

However, they were speedily t^ght 
to feel the dangerous position they had 
assumed. Their quick-sighted opponents 
saw at once the advantages ofiered them 
from their ill-chosen step, and seiaed on 
the Jamaica question as their point of 
attack, hoping to turn to account the mdi- 
cal discontent which was openly expreseed. 
They were not disappointed, the radicala 
voted with them, and the ministeis re* 
signed. 

We have a few words of comment to offer 
on this petulant act. As history has been 
said to be philosophy teaching by example, 
we will adduce one of these philosophical 
examples for the benefit of all whom it may 
concom, in a parallel case, firom the story of 
the Roman people. 

The decemvus had displeased the people 
— the people became discontented — the 
enemy took advantage of this discontent 
and marched against the city. The de- 
cemvirs called upon the people for assist- 
ance. The people rejoiced at this — they 
would not assist their rulers— they quietly 
suffered themselves to be beaten for the ex- 
press purpose of punishing the decemvirs, 
although they thereby enduigered the Com- 
mon Weal---6iich conduct is now-a-days, 
pithilv called '' cutting off the nose to vex 
the fece." Now for the panilel. The 
ministry di^leased the Radicals— the 



* As there are ghosts of departed quaotitiea ; 
we suppose there may be a ghost of a Uae of a 



112 



TH0UGHT8 AND FANCIES 



cals Openly esmress their disconteDt— the 
enemy^ id est, the Tories, take advantage of 
this, and make a bold and united attack on 
ministers — ^the Radicals rejoice at the pros- 
pect of revenge, at the opportunity of shew- 
mg their power, and, like the Roman people 
''hostibus belloque cratiam habuerunt:*' 
this they nick-named acting according to 
principle. The ministry call upon them, in 
this crisis, for support against the common 
enemy. And again not satisfied with merely 
following in the footsteps of their protot3rpes, 
who were content with being passive, (** ne 
quid ductu autauspiciis decemvirorum pros- 
pere gereretur, vinci se patiebantur.") our 
modem radicalst to shew their genius, im- 
proved upon the example set them, and went 
bodily ' over for the nonce, to the ranks of 
the enemy. 

Now we think it indisputable that both 
the Roman people and the English radicals 
were wrong — although there are many 
things to excuse the former — the decem- 
virs were tyrants ; they had subverted the 
laws; they had suspended the courts of justice, 
and had omitted for years to assemble the 
senate. We know of no competent excuse 
for the latter — they were in the wrong, 
because they endangered interests of pa- 
ramount iiuportance, the well-being of 
their respective nations, for the grati- 
fication of party feelings and, in a de- 
C, of private wrongs. But '' vitam regit 
ina non sapientia." The Roman people 
after perilling Uie state obtained the destruc- 
tion of the decemvirs. The Radicals after 
the firight of the three days, made the 
amende honorable, and obtained the open- 
ing of the ballot — a Normanby in the home 
office, and a Macauley at the council board — 
thus scotching if not killing the snake 
"finality." But we repeat they ventured too 
much, and we trust they will not again fol- 
low an example ''more honoured in the 
breach than in the observance." 

The moment these concessions were made 
to the demands of the Radicals, the oppo- 
sition cried out inconsistency, Jim Crow- 
ism, &c. with what shew of reason or fair- 
dealing, we will take leave to examine. 

When Demades was accused of inconsist- 
ency in his public character, he replied, 
" I may have asserted things contrary to my 
former sentiments ; but not any contrary to 
the three interests of the Commonwealth." 
Now, either this is a sound excuse or it is 
not. If it is not, then are the Tory leaders, 
just as liable to the cha rge s which are heaped 
so unsparingly on the Whigs, of inconsist- 
ency, yieldmg to the masses, ^. in the 



affairs of Emancipation and the Orange 
Lodges. If it is a sound excuse, then per-^ 
haps it would be only fiur play, that the 
Melbouine ministry should be allowed the 
benefit of it, as well as the Wellington. 

We are bound to admit, however, that the 
excuse of Demades is not strictly applicable 
to the Tories, inasmuch as toryism has no- 
thing to do with " the true interests of the 
Commonwealth." It is too entirely busied 
with the true interests of itself and the indi- 
viduals composing it. And as these inter- 
ests are ever the same power and pelf, we 
have a clue to its unchanging and unchang- 
able disposition. 

Immutable councils are the attribute of 
the godhead, and require for their formation 
and carrying out, omniscience and omnipo- 
tence. They belong not to us, they are not 
hmnan. It is their superstition to imagine 
such a thing. Nothing can be truer as a 
political maxim, whatever Lord John, Sir 
Robert, or the Pope may imai^ine to the 
contrary, than the fine 

" Malum coDBilium est, quod matari non potest-'* 

These charges of being given to change, 
inconsistency and Jim Crowism, become 
passing strange, when we consider the prin- 
cipal source mm whence they are derived — 
namely, the leading journal of the day ; a 
journal, which, because of the bold and un- 
scrupulous talent displayed therein, in de- 
fence of that party which it may choose for 
a con-si-der-a-tion, to uphold for a given 
time, we would advise to adopt the following 
motto : — 

** Nil deflpcrandum J^mcro dace, aaspioe Jtmero." 

When Sir Robert Peel, the man who is al- 
ways feeling his way, finding himself in 
Downing-stieet, (in consequence of radical 
petulance), «nd forgetting his systematic 
cautiousness, was unexpectedly check-mated, 
in his daring attack upon tne Queen and 
her household, doubtless, it sorely repented 
him of the momentary abandonment of his 
groping tactics. But we suppose he was 
forced upon his mettle by his Tory backers, 
those " irritamenta malorum,*' and perhaps 
he wished himself to prove to the world, that 

ProdigiouB actions may aa weU be done 

By weaver's issue as by prince's son. — Dryden. 

The flying leap over moderation and com- 
mon sense, was taken quite in a "pindarick 
way." But, alas ! ho was tripped as many 
a better man was before him, and vrill be 
after him, by — a petticoat, and flung to the 
ditch which we fear he found " as hard as 



ON THINGS AT HOME AND ABBOAD, 



113 



tiiough it had been paved with platonic 
ladies' hearts*." 

All the world knows what great eyents^ 
from little causes spring. Nevertheless, we 
tmst we will stand excused for quoting one 
example, which we deem peculiarly apposite. 

Rabelais, in book y. chap. xxx. of his 
Mystical Romance, has the following. " 1 
saw a Remora, a little fish, called £chineis 
by the Greeks, and near it a tall ship, that 
did not gel aliead an inch, though she was 
in the offings with top and top> gallants 
spread before the wind. / am scmewkcU 
inclined to believe, that 'twas the very nu- 
fnerical ehip in which Periander the tyrant 
happened to he, when it was stopped by such 
a Itttlejis^ in spite of wind ana tide.*' 

Be blessings on the Remora and petti- 
coat I After this tumble of the honourable 
member for Tamworth — this discomfited 
Periander — ^the whole pack of his followers 
rnnning open mouthed upon the game; 
being so suddenly put out, licked their 
watering-chops, lost their temper, and set up 
a loud, and continuous howling. The Brad- 
ahaws and the Robys lifted up their voices 
in vehement denunciation of those who sit 
in high places; and the Canterbiuy di- 
vines holloed them on at the utmost pitch of 
thehr lungs. 

Much has been written and said about 
these people and their pranks, we will venture 
to add a little more to the mass, chiefly be- 
cause we are of opinion that a refiresher to 
the memoiy, concerning that expose of 
Toryism, cannot be altogether useless at the 
present time. 

The Tory press asserted that drunken gen- 
tlemen^or as they more courteously phrased 
it, gentlemen "heated with wine,"— -ought 
not, in fair play, to be considered the true 
exponents of the sentiments of their party. 
Peihi^ not, if by the sentiments of their 
par^, they meant those speciosa nomina,by 
means of which they hoped and hope, to 
impose on the good sense of the people. 
But if by the sentiments of their party be 
meant, the real, though concealed motives 
and designs which actuate that party, then 
do we contend, that gentlemen " heated with 
wine," when prudence and political craft 
have been knocked on the head, by truth- 



* HmrTSMAH. — "So hurt my lord, I hope ? 
OBSAiias. — ^What? Dost think my hono and 

• I shew tricks ? 

Was there a bed of roses there ? would I were 
Eunuch if I had not as lief ha' fiUlen in the State 
As where I did? The ground was as hard as if it 
Ha'bee&pay'dwith Platonic ladies' hearts. 

Swchlimg's jiplamrtu^^ct 1, Seeiu 1. 



telling Bacchus, are just the very men to 
make an open and candid disclosure of these 
motives and these designs. And tins Mr. 
Bradshaw and his firiends have done. Tis 
useless to deny it. 

Marsyas dreamt that he had cut the throat 
of the tyrant Dionysius. Dionysius put him 
to deaUi, alleging that he would never 
have dreamt of such a thing by night, if he 
had not thought of it by day. Now the 
tyrant may possibly have been in the wrong 
in his allegation, though a shrewd one. But 
we contend, that genUemen, when " heated 
with wine," especially on public occasions, 
and in the presence of clergymen, when it is 
to be supposed that they could not get 
regularly " fou," but just ''a drappie in 
their ee," are not in the habit of giving 
utterance to sentiments which have not pre- 
viously occupied their sober thoughts, in 
cooler hours. 

For thb good service, for it is a good ser- 
vice, to tell us of what our opponents are 
capable, and what their intentions are — the 
liberal press should have been grateful. 
Instead of which, it has, we cannot but think, 
bestowed too much of its indignation and 
attention on the individual Mr. Bradshaw. 
He was by no means worthy of it, whatever 
his statements may have been. He should 
have been treated as Theodosius wrote to 
one ot his prefects, to treat those who spoke 
amiss of his person or government : " Si id 
ex levitate processerit, contemnendum est ; 
si ex insania, miseratione dignissimum ; si 
ab injuria, remittendum." 

But as we have said, the sentiments of 
Mr. Bradshaw and his firiends, are of the 
utmost importance, as. a beacon to guide us 
to, — what should be constantly kept before 
the public, just now — ^the Irish public es- 
pecially — the true motives and designs of 
their purty, viz : rage at being deprived of 
their ancient influence, and a determination 
to acquire it again by any means and at all 
hazards. Ireland they would re-conquer if 
they could— they should know, however, 
that the " alien" land, never was conquered, 
as a united country ; as Ulster, Munster, 
Leinster, and Connaught, she never was, 
never can be conquered — ^fidling that, they 
will disfiranchise her if possible. The masses 
whom they cannot put down by corn-laws 
and nine shillings per week,* wages, they 
would cut down, by a summaiy process. 



* His Grace, of Buckingham, hi the debate on 
the corn-laws, said, " If they are so well paid 
(nine shillinfi^ per week), what cause of complaint 
have they against the conirlaws?" 



114 



THOUGHTS ANO FANCIES 



winch is s^led ** ajAolding the ms^esty of 
the laws.*' And the Queeo^ €rod bless her 
— whom they cannot manage, they would 
depose. They have not hesitated to ex- 
press something like a willingness, 

detrahere 
Hierentem capiti xmilta com laode coronam. 

In a letter written some two hundred years 
ago, by the author of " a ballad ou a wed- 
ding," giving an account to a friehd or the 
Scottish business in Charles the First's time, 
there is a paragraph, admirably illustrative of 
the present Tory quarrel with the Queen and 
court. Here it is, verbatim et literatim. 
" If you will have my /opinion, I think their 
quarrel to the King, is that they may have 
to the sun ; he doth not warm and visit 
them as much as others. God and nature 
have placed them in the shade, and they are 
angry with the King of England for it. To 
conclude, this is the case. The great and 
wise Husbandman, hath planted the beasts 
in the out-fields, and tney would break 
hedges to come into the garden. This is 
the belief of your humble servant, &c." 

Now the Tories of the present day after 
being forcibly driven from " the garden," in 
which they for a very long time, committed 
unheard of devastations; after being ex- 
cluded for a series of years, during which 
they have been nursing their wrath and hus- 
banding their energies, have at length girded 
up their loins for a grand attack on '' the 
hedge," which has been specially erected 
for their exclusion by Lords Grey and 
Russell. 

Lord Stanley in the van, with his regis- 
tration bill-hook in his hand, lays about him 
most lustily, cutting, hacking, and hewing 
away ; seemingly determined " vi et armis, 
and with malice a forethought," as the law- 
yers say, to open a passage sufficient for 
the admission of himself and his hungry 
expectants, made ravenous by a ten years 
fast; and burglariously to take possession 
of the good things within. He cares not ^ 
doit, if by so doing he cuts up root anrf 
branch, •*the stalces in the hedge" which 
an entire kingdom possesses, and which are 
paraphrastically termed amoi^gst politicians 
the * elective franchise." 

No doubt his lordship intends this as an- 
other practical lesson to Ireland, his firstbeing 
the coercion bill ; in furtherance, no doubt, of 
his philanthropic intentions with regard to 
her, viz: — ^"That she must be taught to 
fair, before she can be permitted to love." 

To vetum from whence we hare digressed, 
viz : — ^the true motives and designs of the 



Toiy party, mentioned above. These motires 
and these designs, prematurely divulged, 
during the soreness created by the disap- 
pointment of May, 18d9, have ever sinoe 
been carefully kept in abeyance; nntil a 
favourable opportunity should ofier for their 
being put into execution. This opportmiity 
they seem to think has arrived, ana they are 
determined to make the best of it ; knowing* 
that 

" Opportunity to statesmen, is as the just degree 
Of heat to chymisti — it perfects all the work.'* 

Chartism and what they term the ''growing 
ascendancy of Popery," have prepared the 
way before them — have placed a powerful 
instrument in their hands, to be wielded in 
the brickbat and bludgeon style. It is the 
cry of " property and Protestantism in dan- 
ger" — the most powerful that could well 
be imagined for influencing Englishmen. 

There is nothing which makes an Eng- 
lishman so furious and obstinate, as the be- 
lief that his pocket is in danger. For his 
pocket he will risk his hedd any day — for 
his head he will not so readily risk his 
pocket. Once set the cry agoing, and from 
constimt repetition and ceaseless dinning 
into his ears, John Bull at last begins to 
believe there is something in it. Then he is 
ready to do anything against those, who he 
is told are lying in wait to rob him, and for 
those, who using him as the monkey used 
the cat's paw, wheedle him into a belief that 
they are his friends, that they alone can pre- 
serve him from " battle, murder, and sud- 
den death." When in addition to this, all 
his hereditary prejudices are taken into ac- 
count, sucked in mxh his mother^s milk, 
against Pope and Popery — the wild Irish 
— Bloody Mary and Smithfield fires ; it is 
not too much to say, that the most lamenta- 
ble eflects may be anticipated to the liberal 
cause, from this raw-head-and-bloody-bones 
cry of "property and Protestantism in 
danger." 

Nothing, we think, can be more certain 
fhan that Sit Robert Peel looks confidently 
fonmrd, ks much so as a man of his wary 
temperament can, to the s}>eedy' resumption 
of omce. All things seem tending to this 
— ^wilh the exception of the Queen, and 
therefore has she been denounced and 
threatened with t)ie fate of a James. Ire- 
land is not so much a hindrance to the Re- 
sumption of ofiice, as it would be an obsta- 
cle to the long retention of it. The mur- 
murings of the Radicals — the madness of the 
chartists, who have so recklessly played into 
the hands of the Tories—the church a|^ta- 



ON THiifoid At dMti Atm AtttoAD. 



us 



tion, which is putting forth all its inflaence ; 
and it is mighty in England-^the power- 
fnl exertions made at the registries — the 
loss of a Carlow — the determined opposition 
of the Lords — the sledgins of a Brougham, 
who has heen, like Pericles, ** thundering, 
lightning, and (xm/btinc/tn^ all Greece,"— -and 
ahove ul the weakness of the ministiy 
caused hy their half-and-half conduct,— all 
seem tending to the one thing, the ottsthig 
of the present possessors of Dowuing-street, 
and the incoming of Sir Rohert, whose plau- 
sible conduct in the house — whose apparently 
liberal sentiments at times, when he b not 
forced into some act of true Toryism, against 
his better judgment, are calculated to do 
touch mischiet. So that we doubt not* 
Ihey are insensibly inducing many liberal 
minded metif imposed upon by his adroit 
management, and gulled by his skilful re- 
cognitions of popukr power, thrown out on 
various occasions, into a belief that a go*- 
remment with Sir Robert Peel at the head 
of it, would be a reforming government, 
could not be worse than the present finally 
one, and would be the means of preventing 
the xecuifenee of such scenes as those at 
Newport* 

This apparait liberality e( Sir Robert 
Peel is a thing to be guarded against, with 
the utmost cautiousness. It isi ror all prac- 
tical puiposes, only apparait. No doubt 
the man is at heart a reformer^ and were it 
not for his diitinguiriiing characteristic of 
" letting I dare not wait upon I would/' he 
would have been, where his natural prompt- 
ings pointed — at the head of the liberals of 
Encland for the last decade of years. But 
whue such men as Newcastle, Roden, L3md- 
hurst, Buckingham and Londonderry in 
the Lords — KnatchbuU, Inglis, Gladstcme, 
Jackson and Litton in the Commons, ^st; 
while the Orange party in Ireland, and the 
Church party in England, continue in their 
presost rabid state. Sir Robert, as minister, 
dares not, if he would, be liberal. 

Inst^ of professing to further and widen 
reforms, his march would be a retrograding 
to '' the good old times.*' For his pwty 

« Nisi quflB t«rris remota, sulaqtie 
Tsmporibvs deftmeta vidct, fiutiaii et otft." 



It is possible that circumstances might force 
him, now and then, to advance a step, but 
verily, for one step forward, there would be 
two backward ; there would be under such a 
leader, a game, as the Scotch say, of " jewk- 
ery-pawkery," but the aim would always be 
"the good old times;" the ceasing not, 
until ley had pluited their Hag, « super 
antiquas vias. 

Locke in his treatise an civil government 
has aptly illustrated the precise case under 
consideration. In such a case, he says, 
" How can a man anymore hinder himself 
from believing in his own mind, which way 
things are gcung, or from casting about how 
to save himselfj than he could from believing 
the captain of the sliip he was in was carry- 
ing bun and the rest of his company to 
Algiers, when he found him always steering 
that course, though cross winds, leaks in his 
ship, and want of men and provisions did 
often force him to turn his course another 
way for some timei which he steadily re^- 
tumed to again, as soon as the windsi 
weadier, and other ciicumstaiices would let 
him." 

Sueh we feel confident would be precisely 
the case of a Tory ministry at the present 
time. 

We sincerely hope that the public will 
ponder well on thesd things, and act accord- 
mgiy ; that they will seriously consider the un« 
seonly conduct of the Tories to their Queen; 
calling her the Queenof a Auction, because she 
will not have them as her advis«»— the dar- 
ing disloyal^ of the Canterbury revellers — 
the haughty mnands of thehigh Church party 
on the Education question-^the monstrousat- 
tempt to disfranchise an entire people. We 
trust they will consider these things as the 
true marks of what Toryism has been, is now, 
and ever shall be, and that they will not suffer 
themselves to be decmved by the plausibilities 
of the wily Sir Robert. If they do — ^wehope 
better things— but if they do, we can only 
say in the W(»ds of Laoeoon, 



» O miserl, qua tanU inflaaia» oivM? 



CreditisaTectoskostes? ant ulla putatis 
Dona carere dolis i>aiiauai? Sic koini Ufytttt f 



VOL. III. NO. XTI. 



m 



THB WEXFORD RKTRSAT. 



THE WEXFORD RETREAT. 



▲N EPISODE IN THE HISTOBY OF 'XCVni. 



B7 A COTEMPOBART. 



In the autumn of 1829, 1 resolved on an 
excursion into Leinster, determined after a 
non-intercourse of many years, on paying 
a long contemplated visit to an old ana 
respected friend in Meath — a gentleman 
of the true Milesian caste, whose mansion 
was the seat of hospitality ; but whose for- 
tune owed little to the worldly prudence of 
a proprietor, who, in the spirit ox his ances- 
tors, had been ever more disposed to the 
enjoyment of thepresent than speculations 
for the future. His horses, his hounds, the 
adventurous companions of his morning 
chase, or the more selected friends of his 
evening board, formed no unimportant ap- 
pendages to the enjoyments of an ever active 
fife-.^ha8tened by the benevolent dispensa- 
tion of those duties, to which the helpless 
and the indigent, he conceived, had, a pre- 
scriptive claim. And thus years glided on 
with scarcely a shade of variation. But 
the political hemisphere became clouded 
— and e'er the impending storm had burst, 
which divided kmdred and fellow-coun- 
trymen under adverse banners, in that short 
but blighting contest, my friend became 
enrolled, with others of his locality, in 
the service of the crown. Whatever senti- 
ments he might subsequently have enter- 
tained, as to the expediency or the policy 
of those measures^ to which the Government 
of that day had recourse, it is not my pro- 
vince to investigate. But this I can assert, 
that in the sterner duties of the soldier he 
never compromised the * nobler qualities of 
the man. Cruelty and oppression were 
foreign to his nature, and love of country 
and of kind were the strongest sentiments of 
his heart But I am not writing the history 
of this individual, whose life might not per- 
haps be devoid of interest : — I shall merely 
advert to such passages as are relevant to 
the subject before me, under the title pre- 
fixed to my present review. 

The circumstance which introduced me to 
an early acquaintance and subsequent friend* 



ship with this benevolent gentleman, was of a 
singular, if not romantic character. It was 
near the close of an eventful crisis ; a period 
memorable in the annalsofourcountrv, — and 
at a moment of yet high political excitement 
Need I apprise my reader, that I allude 
to the disastrous era of /nikett-sight ? 
Our views in life were opposite : our po- 
litical positions equally so — and yet it was 
to him I was indebted for the hospitality 
of the domestic hearth, and the sympathy 
of a friend in the hour of emergency. A 
period of many years had since intervened, 
and important changes had taken place hi 
the political world. A sanguinaiy war had 
laid the foundation for a peacenil revolu- 
tion; and, in the progress of events, the 
influence of moral power had effected what 
physical force had tailed to achieve. When 
now about to renew my long suspended 
intercourse with this old and vuued friend, 
I felt a strong desire to avail myself 
of the favourable opportunity, which that 
circumstance presented, for revisiting some 
of those scenes, which from their relation 
with past occurrences, however pamful the 
retrospect, — ever afibrd me subject of inte- 
resting remembrance. Besides, I entertaincMi 
the further view of investigating, in their re- 
spective localities, the particulars of certain 
transactions. of those times: and from the 

r'sonal knowledge of my intelligent friend, 
anticipated facilities, important to the 
object of my research. 

The season which I selected for my long 
contemplated excursion, was peculiany in- 
viting. It was that period of &e year, when, 
in the diversified colouring of nature, the 
scenery of our midland districts is viewed to 
the highest advantage ; and that quarter 
through which I had to pass, may perh^s 
be regarded as the fairest, if not the most 
fertile,within the ancientprincipality ofMeath. 
^ The reader, if he be an admirer oY the beau- 
tiful and picturesque, who has only once jour- 
neyed tnrough that romantic section of the 



TIUS WBXF6]U> VMBOUt. 



117 



Provincdi which marks on the north andsouth 
the course of the river Boyne» needs not to 
be reminded of the richness and variety of 
the scenery, which on either hand is pre- 
sented to his view.- Here the expanoing 
waters, swelling beyond the boundarieswhich 
nature seems to have designed for their 
limits, glide in placid course over the allu- 
vial plain, glittermg with the gently spread- 
ing current At intervals, they are seen 
rushing, dark and deep, beneath high shelv- 
ing banks, dense with the loftiest trees of 
the forest 

The rich meadow grounds and pasture 
fields, teeming with hards, or flocks of the 
finest fleece, display the generous gifts of 
nature to a soil unrivalled in its exceUence : 
while the gently undulating hills rising to 
the north, ana either crowned with pe- 
rennial verdure, or the fruitful reward of 
industrious husbandry, present a grateful 
variety to the eye, and form a delightful 
contrast with those dark and towering moun- 
tains in the more distant west, which seem 
to form an interminable line of demarca- 
tion, and, as it were, -an impenetrable barrier, 
of the confines of Ulster — a province not 
more interesting to the philosophical en- 
quirer in the variety of its locuities, than 
to the political, in the diversity of its 
fortunes. 

Notwithstanding the long interval which 
had passed since I had last visited this quar- 
ter of Leinster ; and that the lapse of years, 
with the improving hand of man, had pro- 
duced considerable change in the general 
aspect of the country ; I could trace at once 
the scenes of events, which now struck as 
vividly on my mind as an occurrence of only 
the evening before. It was through this fair 
and fertile district, in the same season of the 
year, and thirty summon anterior to the pre- 
sent, that « « « and Fitzgerald led their 
hardy followers on their disastrous expedition 
to the north; and where circumstances which 
it can interest none now to learn, afforded me 
a transient opportunity of witnessing the 
daring conduct of those adventurous chiefs, 
in one of the boldest military movements 
csontemplated during the insurrectionaiy 
warfare of 'kikety-bioht. But this forms 
a subject of history, too ample here to be 
retraced : I shall therefore briefly advert to 
such points, for the more general mformation 
of the reader, as will serve to elucidate the 
views entertained by the insurgent leaders 
on their incursion into Meath. 

The decisive battles of the 20th and 21st 
of June had re-established the royal autho- 
rity in Woxfordj and General Lake^ with 



twenty thousand British troops, occupied 
the several posts which his Majesty's forces 
had previously been constrained to abandon. 
Wexford was at this moment the principal 
depot of the British army in Ireland : and 
we may estimate the importance attached to 
the subjugation of that county, by reference 
to the nulitaxy force employed on the occa- 
sion. * 

The several popular leadera, who, on the 
faith of Lord kingsborough's tiea^, + re- 
tired from the field, soon paid, in the forfei- 
ture of iheir lives and the sequestration of 
their properties, the ''penalty of their politi- 
cal ofl^ces." Those who preferred the 
fortune of war to the fiuth of the victor, 
retained their arms: and making rapid in- 
cursions into some of the neighbouring- 
counties, averted for a time the fate that 
awaits the unsuccessful in civil contests. 

* * * when no longer able to [maintain 
his'groond in Wexford, associating himself 
with Fitzgerald of Newpark, whom Sir John 
Moore designated the " Intrepid and Hu- 
mane," retreated to Kildare ; where, with the 
residue of their forces, who had survived the 
Wexford campaign, Uiey formed a junction 
with the ever active and enterprisdng Aylmer, 
who still held an imposing position in that 
section of Lemster* It was.there« after one 
or two unsuccessful attempts to surprise 
some of the royal posts in that district, that 
the Wexford chiefis formed the daring design 
of relieving their native county, by making 
a diversion to the North, with the view of 
attracting the attention of the enemy to a 
new position, and a firesh warfare on the 
southern confines of Ulster. 



* The following is taken from the official retonis, 
as published by Uie Irish Secretary, Lord Castle- 
reagh, with the names of the officers of superior 
rank, who were opposed to the United Irish forces, 
in the county of Wexford, in the actions of the 
20th and 2l8t June, 1796. 

Lieutenant General Lake, Commander in chief. 

Lieut. General Dundas. 

Major Generals: Sir James Duff, Sir Charles 
Asgin, Xeedham, Johnson, Eustace, Cradock, 
Loftus, Hewitt. 

Brigadier Gen. Moore. 

Lords : Ancram, Boden, Blayney, Glentworth, 
Loftus, Dalhousie. 

t This treaty, negodated between Colonel Lord 
Kingsborough and certun hifluential inhabitants of 
Wexford, where his Lordship for some time pre- 
viously was prisoner to the United Irish forces — 
had placed the Town of WeaJ'ord in Lord Kings- 
borough's hands, on the " Gmaraniee of hi$ 
Hmumr, for the general security of life and pro- 
perty." This treaty was submitted to the Com- 
mander-in-chief, General I«ake, who refteed to 
ratify H after the saccess of his M4«B*9r'« ^"^ 
at Tto^garHUL 

I 2 



118 



THB WBXFOI0 BBTBRAT* 



The overwhelming pressure of the Britbh 
army in 'Wexford, the military Judgments 
hourly executed on the most mnuential of 
its inhabitants, and the unrestrained outrages 
to which the subjugated and defenceless po- 
pulation were a prey, counterbalanced in the 
estimation Of those leaders, the worst conse- 
quences which might possibly result, even in 
the failure of their enterprise. Hopeless as 
the succeffii of that enteiprise might have 
appeared to spirits less ardent, the measure 
was not perhaps beyond the teach of attain- 
ment, if aided by ^oiie resources on which 
the leaders had calculated. They con« 
ceived that by producing an insurrectionary 
movement in Meath-— being also favoured by 
apassive,if notan insurgentspirit in Louthi — 
they coiUd gain possession of the important 
fastnesses on the north of that county, and 
thereby be enabled to maintain at least a 
defensive warfiire; until Wexford and the 
contiguous districts, relieved from the inter- 
nal pressure of the enemy's troops, should 
be ajQTorded an opportunity of retneving the 
ground they had lost in the late sanguinary 
campaign; for though Wexford was inter- 
nally subdued, the epirit of her people was 
not extinct; and the recent struggle had 
made every peasant familiar with me duties 
of a soldier. Animated with these hopes, 
and impatient for the enterprise, * * * and 
Fitzgerald marshalled then: bands; and se- 
parating from the confederate forces of Kil- 
dare— 4it the head of sixteen hundred bold 
and tried companions in arms, they marched 
for the North. 

The advance of the Wexford column was 
rapid, as the object of their march was bold 
and adventurous. The arrangement of the 
force, the novelty of the equipment, with a 
musketeer and a pikeman mounted on each 
horse— and notwithstanding all this, the 
celerity of their movement, seemed to have 
so paralysed the more loyal inhabitants of 
the country through which they passed, that 
the fearful armament, on the moment, was 
pronounced irresistible. The leaders, too, 
were versed in insurrectionary warfare, had 
the address to avail themselves of eveiy 
circumstance favourable to the object of their 
expedition. The weather was most oppres- 
sively hot — it was the sultry summer of 
^ninety-eigkt. This, with the burthen of an 
extra rider, rendered a frequent change of 
horses a measure of the firat consideration ; 
and the means of procuring such relief were 
resorted to, with little delicacy or reserve. 
The rich pasture grounds of'^ Dublin and 
Meadi aff(Mpded, at that period of the year, 
a reasonable supply: but whether fxoui 



field or stalls no man scrupled to exchange 
his weak or, wearied steed for a fresh and 
vigorous charger; and of yeomanry horses, 
on occasions, rapid was the transfer from 
the Loyal to the Rebel ranks. For the yeo- 
manry troops, the Wexford men entertained 
an avowed hostility, with the most marked 
contempt. Indeed the latter feeling was at 
times aisplayed in the mere indulgence of 
those humourous propensities which are so 
congenial with the Irish character, and often 
evinced under circumstances of the gravest 
import. 

Whatever interruption the leaders might 
have had reason to apprehend from a ren- 
counter with their yeomanry opponents, it 
does not appear that they were at any time 
over cautious to avoid the contact. The 
whole line of their march was intersected by 
those military stations or divisional depots, 
of which in general the local yeomanry con- 
stituted the garrison; the regular troops 
occupying the more important towns. 

On the bordera of the metropolitan county, 
a permanent post of observation had been 
established, which, from its situation, was 
considered a station of some importance. 
This post was on a commanding eminence 
at the junction of two roads, running in a 
nearly parallel direction for some mOes, and 
terminating in one great leading thorough- 
&re, to which it might not inaptly be termed 
the key. It was in the direct line of the 
Wexfordmen's route; and from this promi- 
nent position, the advance of a force was 
early aescried by the immense clouds of dust 
which enveloped the column on its march. 
Nothing further, however, could be ascer- 
tained; for nearer and nearer as the divi- 
sion approached, it was still concealed 
from view, and the fonnidable movement 
no otherwise discernible than by the dense 
curling current which darkened the atmos- 
phere around. It was evident, however, 
from the rapidity of their motion, that the 
troops were cavalry ; but whether English, 
Scotch, or German auxiliaries, the most 
practised military eye could not discover. 
But of all rational conjectures, the last to 
be entertained was the advance of an enemy ! 
The Wexford campaign had closed. The 
royal cause had triumphed; and to the 
north of Kildare there was not a rebel in 
arms* 

The gallant squadron (as presumed,) now 
returning with '' well earned laurels from the 
hard fought field," claimed respect from 
the loyal and the brave; and the com- 
mander of the depot was not the man to 
forego one point of i^itary etiquette in the 



TKB WnFOflB nnsjL¥« 



119 



pompons display of a soldierlj recepdoQ, 
for which so favourable an opportunity was 
afforded. The bugle sounded — the garri- 
son turned out — the troops formed in order ; 
and at the head of the imposing line^ the 
courteous commander awaited to receive 
with military honours, ''his brothers in 
arms!'' 

The column mean time kept sweeping 
forw&rd with rapid course — ^the men chant- 
ing, in merry mood, their favourite airs, 
and rounding the chorus with thrilling 
cheers for the "Baronial sons nf Skef- 
malier and Fi>rth"* This was not the 
characteristic deportment of British troops 
—neither did the diversified habiliments of 
the insurgrat band, now ^nerging from 
the dusty cloud, correspond with the glit- 
tering uniforms of the royal forces. 

The astounding .discovery was as the an- 
nouncement of fate I — And neither courtesy 
nor hostility bemg suited to the emergency 
of the moment, both yielded to the impe- 
rious law of necessity ; and a timely aban- 
donment of the post preserved the prudent 
garrison from the fearml encounter with a 
"rebel foe." Hasty and promiscuous was 
the retreat; while the advancing division, 
in taunting enjoyment of the disorderly 
scene which its unlooked-for presence had 
produced, pursued its course. As the hopes 
of their enterprise rested on the promptness 
of the execution, a moment of time was 
never wasted by the Wexford leaders, of 
whom it has been observed, that their march 
more resembled the sweeping blast of a 
whirlwind, than the regular advance of a 
military foree. But the intelligence of 
their approach had outrun the velocity of 
their own movements. The fugitive garri- 
son had sounded the alarm, and troops were 
now to be seen collecting from every quar- 
ter to impede the march of the invader. 

Amongst the several divisions that had 
hastily taken their ground — for scarcely a 
village or hamlet, at this period, was without 
its divisional ^uard — was a yeomanry squad- 
ron, which, m>m the better quality of the 
men, and the superior description of the 
horses, was proverbially termed ''a eraek 
corps;" and certainly, in both these points» 
together with its general equipment, it was 
not undeserving the appellation. 

It is not to be presumed that a corps so 
high in the estimation of others, should be 
altogether insensible to its own merits; 

* The baronies of Shebnalier and Forth, in the 
ooonty of Wexford, were peouliarlj distingiiiahed 
by the zeal and intrepidity of the inhabitants in 
the insurrectionary wvfare of Ninety^ei^hu 



and with a bold show of coafldttnee md 
soldier*like bearing, it had taken up a pro* 
minent positiouy apparently well disposed 
to maintain the Vantage ground it occupied; 
and from the direct Ime of which, the en»* 
my could not, and as it i^pears, was not 
inclined to diverge. The excellent de- 
scription of the public roads, which, even 
in that period of less general improve- 
ment, opened to the northern province, 
afforded greater facility for the compact 
order in which the Wexford division now 
advanced ; and from the apparently limited 
space of ground it covered on its march, 
the armament appeared in the distance 
less formidable to the oj^sing troops. 
But as the hostile band neared the positKHi « 
of their well app<Mnted, but too confident 
opponents, * the fearfiil display of double 
numbers, with the alternate arrangement of 
a musket and a pike, gave a new and more 
imposing aspect to £e scene. 

The commander of the royal party was 
not deficient in personal courage ; and the 
urbanity of his manners had attached to him 
the good feeling and confidence of his men, 
— important considerations; but, however 
desirable under ordinary circumstances, not 
sufiicient in the present, to warrant the 
hazard of an unequal contest with a 
foe, schooled, if not in a lengthened, at least 
in a bloody campaign. " We can never 
stand this, boys !" exclaimed the commander 
of the royd squadron. " Zounds ! we 
might as well think of stopping the moun- 
tain torrent" '' On ! Shelmalier and Forth ! 
Down with man and horse !'* was now the 
loud and audible cry vociferated firom the 
van of the Wexford column; and as the 
thrilling sound penetrated the adverse ranks, 
hearts were appalled by fear, which, but a 
little while before, displayed a manly firm- 
ness. ^ It is all in vain," repeated the com- 
mander, eyeing this corps with a mingled 
feeling of compassion and dismay, — " it is 
all in vain t" and, while each man gazed on 
his fellow in mute amazement, — ^'^ quick,*' 
said he, addressing the trumpeter, " quick ! 
sound a retreat." The terrified musician 
applied the brazen instrument to his lips ; 
it was mute ! ** Sound ! fellow," reiterated 
his commander, ^ sound !" ''I cannot 
soimd, please your honour ; I have not a 

blast to blow." «* Then run ! d ^n ye, 

run !" No order was ever more promptly 
obeyed. Magh go Bragh! and away fled 
man and horse ; the distance in the disor- 
derly files encreasing with the spur of the 
rider, and the fleetness of his steed. 

On the second mommg of their march 



120 



THB WjnCFOBD RKTEEAT. 



fiom KilcUoe) tbe WezfiMrd division retched 
the benks of the Boyne, and so &r^-in a 
XDQte of nearly fifty miles«— had encountered 
BO serioos interruption to their advance. 
Bat now^ pressed bv a squadron of British 
cavahy which had for some time hung on 
their rear, the leaders found themselves 
constrained either to halt and give battle to 
ihe enemy, or to attempt the passage of the 
river un^ disadvantageous circumstances. 
Prompt in all their resolves, they quickly 
decided on the expedient ; and after a sharp 
contest, succeeded in repelling their pur- 
suers. But the star of these adventurous 
chiefs was no longer in the ascendant. 
They had traverseil a large section of 
Mei2th without experiencing that popular 
demonstration in their favour, which they 
had too confidently anticipated. Few or 
none of the rural population had joined 
their ranks, and the aspiring hopes with 
which they had entered on their daring en- 
terprise, could no longer be entertained. 
Having crossed the Boyne, and pressing 
onward, with unabated visour, which they 
maintained to the lastr— mey encountered 
the two Britbh Generals, Meyrick and 
Wajms, at the head of their concentrated 
forces, and an immediate conflict ensued. 

The poaition occupied by the Wexford 
troops, eventually exposed them to a de- 
structive fire finom the enemy's cannon, 
which had not come up in the early part of 
the action ; and in a little time their ground 
became untenable. It was now evident 
to the commanders on either mde, that no 
alternative remained but unconditional sur- 
render, or immediate retreat. The former 
was an expedient which no disaster could 
compel the Wexford leaders even to con- 
template,* while, in the preparatoiy ar- 
rangements of the enemy, they perceived 
his intention to render the latter imprac- 
ticable. It, however, was accomplished. 
In a desperate charge they forced the Eng- 
lish line, and extricated their followers in 
the moment the most critical to ihek for- 
tune. 

This bold and successful measure 
firustrated the contemplated desiffn of the 
British commander, who saw me enemy 
cocape as firom a net, before him. For a 
time, with his cavalry, he followed up the 
retreat, but deriving no aid in the co-opera- 
tion of his infioitxy, he abandoned the pur- 
suit. 

The preoecBng review, which I have con- 
fined to a brief outline, will, I presume, be 

* Tba vanqqhhed •' Bebel" nerw reoalved quar- 
ter In the Md, aorsMrcy la the trOmiua. 



sufficient to acquaint the r^er with the 
primary motive and the ultimate object of 
the Wexford leaders in that iatal enterprise. 
I shall now turn to the more imme- 
diate object of my excursion, and from 
which, perhaps, I liave too long digressed. 

I had made but slow progress in the latter 
part of my joum^, ana the evening was far 
advanced when I reached the hospitable 
mansion of my venerable fiiend. Our inter- 
view was such as might naturally have been 
expected after so long a separation. 

Time, I was happy to perceive, had not 
wrought the customary changes in the ap- 
pearance of my fiiend. He was still hale in 
constitntion and vigorous in finame, while the 
gay and lively disposition of his nature re- 
mained unclouded, I soon found that ** long 
by-gone occurrences" were vet green in his 
remembrance, and that passmg years seemed 
rather to have matured his judgment, than 
to have impaired the energy of his men- 
tal powers. The night was well nigh spent 
before either thought of retiring to rest ; 
but the morning avocations of my host 
were not interrupted by the social enjoy- 
ments of the evening before. I had arisen 
at what I conceived a reasonable hour, and 
observed him firom the windows of my 
apartment, brushing with his dogs and his 
gun, through the thick green furze yet drip- 
ping with the morning dew, whUe he kept 
moving on in the apparent energy of youth, 
and with the waiy eye of the veteran sports- 
man. I hastened to join him ; but he was 
now on his return homeward : and while at 
some distance, displaying (as if in raillery of 
my indolence) a portion of his morning's 
sport, '* see here," said he, " the fruits of early 
industry." "To-morrow/' I replied, *'you will 
find me no sluggard." "We shall see that," 
he significantly rejoined ; " but come, if you 
be determioed on the excursion which we 
talked over last night, let us now to breakfiist, 
and then we shall proceed on our tour of 
observation." 

The excursion which we had planned, 
although at no point verv distant, embraced 
a considerable range of the country, and was 
interesting as the scene of some memo- 
rable events in the earlier as well as in the 
more modem period of our History ; but, 
the chief object of my curiosity was the 
line of The Wbxfobd Rbtkbat, — ^the 
scene of that day's rout and disaster, when 
havinff been defeated by the divisions of 
Meynck and Weyms in the morning, a 
portion of Uie scattered forces assembled in 
the evening of the same day, on the nor- 
thern bi^ of the Boyne. 



TH^ WBXFORD BETREAT. 



121 



Our preparatoiy arransiements were soon 
formed, and while the Q»y (as my fnend 
expressed it) was yet young, we commenced 
onr tour. 

We first visited the deep marshy pkin, 
which formed the memorable theatre of 
contest, and was at the same time the field 
of their defeat, and of that bold achievement, 
which rescued the Wexford band from im- 
pending ruin. Adjacent to this, is the more 
eligible position on which the Wexford 
leaders commenced the action, and for a 
time successfully maintained it against his 
Maj^ty's troops, until the British generals, 
reinforced, compelled the enemy to abandon 
his ground. Whaterer advantages the for- 
mer position afibrded, the latter presented 
none, and the result has already been told. 

In reviewing this field of strife, earlier 
remembrances crowded on my mind, and 
while I tuned on the moment, to contrast 
with the unruffled serenity of nature around 
me, the restless dispositions of men, and the 
vicissitudes of human fortune, my friend 
addressed me — '* Look here," said he : " you 
see that elevated ground to the west, 
scarcely, as you would suppose, a mile ofi*; 
but by the very shortest line of approach, 
you will find that it is more than double the 
distance. The pluns beyond it, now shel- 
tered from our view, lie open and exposed 
in every other direction, affording fiicilities 
by which the fugitive chiefs knew how to 
profit. Why am I so particular in thus di- 
recting your attention r Because to that 
point the British general followed with his 
cavalry on the enemy's retreat; but," he 
continued, *' let us proceed ; we must eco- 
nomise our time, if you would trace through- 
out this Ime of disaster, the many scenes of 
painful interest" 

We hastened our pace, and passing 
through the "JVexfitrd Break,** gained in 
some time the eminence which commands 
an extended view over a fine campaign 
country, on the northern side of the river 
Boyne. ^ Here," said my venerable com- 
panion, ** let us rest: there is no point more 
utvourable to onr object, and when we have 
taken in all that tins view embraces, we will 
turn more to the southward and east" 

" It has often," he observed, pointing to 
the open and extending phiins beneath us, 
''it has often afforded subject of enquiry, 
with those perhaps better acquainted with 
the localities of the country, than the tactics 
of the field, why the fortunate commander 
did not foUow up his success? and why, 
having a rebel force still in arms, he re- 
manded his troops to their respective sta- 



tions. No doubt the moment was a critical 
one, the Wexford band was yet formidable, 
and the ground you perceive favourable either 
for action or retreat There then they rallied 
on the instant, and if they did not actufdly 
drive back their pursuers, it must be ad- 
mitted they conceived themselves in a condi- # 
tion to face them ; and recent example had 
already shown what might result from 
pressing a bold and determined foe, to the 
extreme point of resistance. 

** These considerations might have opera- 
ted on the mind of a prudent commander to 
exercise moderation in victory ; and not less 
influentially, if he conceived that a large and 
excitable population, in any of the adjacent 
towns, required, at this period, a more im- 
pressive display of that salutary control 
which it was the duty of the army to impose. 
For it is to be remembered that militarT 
authority in Ireland had superseded the cinl 
power I But a truce to conjecture, let us 
now trace the line of retreat 

*' It was on the first of those open and con- 
tinuous levels which meet your eye, that 
the Wexford division enjoyed a momentary 
respite, after a rapid fliffht and disastrous 
conflict ; and there, the feelings of the lead- 
ers and the fortitude of the men were tes- 
ted by no ordinary trial. They had de- 
feated by their bold and successful charge 
the contemplated design of the enemf^ and 
were now apparently freed from hb further 
pursuit ; nevertheless, no prospect remained 
on which to found any rational hope of at- 
taining the object of their enterprise. The 
country was 'alaimed— the several garrison 
towns had been aroused from a state of se- 
curity, if not a more censurable state of su- 
pineness, and an important military station* 
yet lay between the discomfited band and 
the pomt of their destination. 

" Enfeebled in foree, though still buoyant 
in spirit, the only expedient which the 
leaders could devise, in the emergency of 
their situatioi), was to retnce their nuoch to 
Kildare, and renew the junction with their 
late confederates in arms. But, however de- 
sirable the adoption of this measure, serious 
impediments stood in the way of its atlam- 
ment, and the not least, embanassing of 
these was, how to transport the troops; 
for the same ftcilities were not now to be 
looked for, which, in a prompt supply of 



* Dundalk, then temporary head quarters of 
two infantry regiments, with an ordinary gwniaoa 
of cavahry and artiUery. The amaUer, but more 
adjacent towns of Collon, Ardeei fcc. wefe gar- 
risoned by supplemeDtarieSf 



Itt 



tm wwn&n upriav* 



bonte^ htd aiABil tlia division mi iu advasoa. 
No otber altenmliTe, hawerer painful the 
cimaidawtinnj eeald on tha momant ba 
auggaatad, than to diamoimttfaa axtra horsa- 
men, and tnial tha issue to fortune and Aeir 
own unsubdued aomrage. The expedient 
% was instantlv adopted^ and embraced with a 
vaady dovotion, charaataristic of men, who, 
if not lacUess of Ufe, evinced, under the 
most appalling oinumstanoea, an extiaor- 
dinary disregard of danger. 

^ The arrangament was but the work of a 
moment; and as each diviaion formed into 
line of march, one purting cheer was inter- 
changed between mem. The dismounted 
men, in an easterly direction, and by the 
shorteat route* proceeded direct for the 
gencgral point of rendeavous assigned for 
the first ni|^t of retreat ; while the cavalxy 
division diverged to tha weat, the better to 
deceive the enemy as to the ultenor object 
of both. 

" The district yecnaanry were under arms ; 
they were numevous, and in general well 
appointed«-4he cavalry particulttly so $ and 
on these devolved the du^, after the with* 
drawal of tha British troops, of marking ^ 
movementa af the Wexford band. This waa 
« sarviee," obsatved my friend, ** which we 
prudentlv perfinrmed at a hamdesa distance. 
Indeed/' he added, '^ some of onr lads, it waa 
presotoad, had no graal ' stomibeh ibr the 
fight/ aov had we much reason to boast 
of om military achieTaments so long as we 
fiiUowed the enemy in the line of dieir retreat. 
— 3ut/' he aontmued, with a countenance exr 
preaaiva of painful eoncavn — ^' there were 
amongst us some» whose intemperate feel* 
ings, with the exeitement to plunder, sti- 
mulated them to acts neither creditable to 
their humanity aa me0| nor to their dis- 
cipline as soldiers. You, ray finend, have 
not to learn that such acts were some- 
times countenanced, if not more directly 
approved, by those whoso duty it was to 
have lestiamed the outrage, or punished 
the perpetrator; while the more humane 
have reluctantly been eompelled to witness 
that i^hioh, however smsibly they may 
have deplored it, they had not the authority 
to prevent. How many of those unfortunate 
fugitives, the weak or the wounded, who, 
when no longer able to keep pace with 
their omipanions, had fidlen defenceless 
in the rear of their division, were wantonly 
immolated — ^meeting their fate with that 
firmness which would hare disarmed a more 
generous asaailant! 

" See that maosipn to the left | it is cond- 
guous to the road ; and thoagh so con^u- 



ooa from this point, is leaa ei^oaad aa you 

af^roachf because of a rising plantatioii 
a^ich screens it in front, while it is eevered 
by a gentle acclivity in the rear. Tliat is 
the parsonage house ; and, were it not other- 
wise remarkable, ia memorable for having 
afibrded shelter to a Wexford rebel. The 
story is short, but it is one which, through** 
out this neighbourhood, has long been the 
subject of sorrowfol recollection, and wUi 
not fail, I am perauaded, to excite your 
sympathy. 

^'A gentleman who accompanied the 
Wexford chiefr in their incursion mto Meath, 
was wounded in the recent engagement. 
From the serious nature of his wound, he 
found himself in a little time unable to 
keep up with his division; and his compar* 
nions, who could afford hiin no relief, were 
constrained to leave him behind. Without 
any other hope of security before him, he 
proceeded direct for that mansion, the first 
dwelling within his reach — ^resolved to com^ 
mit himaelf to the honour and humanity of 
its master. His confidence was not mis* 
placed. 

" The parsonage house* seldom honoured 
by the presence of the superior, was then in 
the occupancy of an humble curate— a kind 
and hospitable man, whose heart was not 
closed to the claims of the destitute, whether 
in the garb of a finend or a foot The 
wounded gentleman was received with com- 
passicm, and the best offices of the benevo- 
lent divine were not wanting in ministering 
to his relief. But his fote was not to 
be averted. A small party of yeomanry 
dragoons, who had occupied themselves 
throughout the day, in the pursuit of strag* 
gling men, and me capture of abandoned 
horses, were now seen approaching the 
retired and peacefol asylum. Whether 
this movement was preconcerted or inci- 
dental, it was regarded with considerable 
excitement by the atrangeri who, not less 
aliye to his friend's safety Uian to his own, 
insisted on quitting the house, and retiring 
for concealment into a thick shrubbery of 
ornamental planting, which was covered 
frxmi the road by a high beechen hedge. 
His host expostulated against any present 
movement or change of position, and even 
bantered him on his scrupulous delicacy 
and imaginary fears. ' Do you think/ said 
he, ' they will enter my dwelling ? — ^is this a' 
quarter where they could contemplate the 
concealment of an enemy ? Rest satiified 
you have no cause for alarm.' 'There is/ 
replied the wounded stranger, 'but your 
roof*tree shall never blaae for having shal- 



TRB WBXFOBB BBTIiaAT. 



113 



tared a nbel I Are 70a aware that my 
detection here would justify the inceodiarv 
in wrapping your mansion in flames?' 
During this generous parley the dragoons 
had neared the dwelling. The stranger was 
lesolute-^-the moment was pressing, and the 
henevolent host with reluctance yielded to 
the importunity of his guest. Fatal impor- 
tunity ! The tottering stq) of the wounded 
man betraved him as he left the house. He 
was called on to stand and surrender : but 
without being afforded time for reply, he 
was fired on by the leading file of the party — 
mortally wounded, and, in tiie convulsive 
agonies of death, literally sabred to pieces. 

'' In the fate of this unfortunate gentle- 
man," continued the humane narrator, " is 
comprized the only authenticated portion of 
his history which we have been able to trace. 
Many and various were the reports and con- 
jectures as to his rank, his family, and 
8tati<m in life. It was rumoured, but I 
have no better authority to advance, that 
the humane clergyman recognized in the 
pers(m of his unfortunate guest, an early 
friend, and college companion. Nothing 
certain, however, is known about him. 

" The only article of value found on his 
mutilated corpse, was a golden ring of ex- 
quisite workmaasbipf richly embossed, dis* 
playing in the centre ground of a deep 
enamel, the popular device of the day, 
— Ebin 00 oRAOH. This was torn from 
the dismembered limb by the rapacious 
hand of the assassin ; and was subsequently 

Eurchased by a gentleman who could more 
ighly appreciate the national symbol." 
During the recital of this melancholy 
tale, I could perceive in the countenance 
of the oompasiionate narrator, a manly 
glow of indignation, with a Tain effort to 
restrain the ualndden teaf. But rosuming 
a mild and placid composure, — '*it were 
idle,** said he, *< to dwell too much on indi- 
vidual suffering, where a mass of human 
misery meets the eye. Yonder is Chamben- 
town Hill; and the deieds it records are 
scarcely less atrocious than that I have 
mentioned, though perpetrated under the 
mockery of justice. Let us, however, 
before we yisit that scene of suffering, 
mark the further route of the cavalry 
division, in which the leaders displayed 
such admirable address. The rme proved 
successful, in the dekmr which they 
made to the west ; it served as designed, 
to withdraw the attention of the yeo- 
manry troops from the dismounted men, 
who wera then in dose and compact order, 
proceeding by the more direct line of 



march, to the station which ^eir diiafii 
had appointed for the general rendesvoua 
of the forces. The cavalry having diverged 
so far to the west as was conceived 8uffi-> 
dent for the attainment of their object, 
changed their course ; and entering Louth 
in an easterly direction, they took post in 
Dowth demesne — the seat of Lord Netter- 
ville — a bold commanding position, over<» 
hanging the Boyne, at a point where the 
river is deep and wide. Here the division 
halted, and promptly formed their line of de« 
fence, which the pursuing squadron per- 
ceiving, as quickly withdrew, leaving the 
enemy in the undisturbed possession of the 
post, which they occupied for the night, 
— about midway between the garrisoned 
towns of Drogheda and Slane, and some 
three or four miles distant from either. 

' The actual loss sustained by the cavalry 
in this day's retreat, after having separated 
from their dismounted companions, was in- 
considerable. It chiefly consisted in hor- 
ses ; several, from fatigue and want of pro- 
vender, were unable to bear up in the 
hurried march, and consequently were aban- 
doned by their riders. As the straggling 
horses became the gratuity of the captors, 
they were eAgerly contended for; but in 
general they proved of little service to 
their new jnastera ; some were high-bred 
animals of fine form and figure, and the 
lucky possessor of these already contem- 
plated the acquirement ef his fortune. 
But woeful wais the disappointment; for 
as, in the best blood, the high spirit only 
yields when animal vigour is exhausted ; 
few or none of this description were recover- 
able from the excessive fittigues they had 
previously endured. 

'* We shall, for the present," said my 
friend, " leave these chiefs in their defen* 
sive position on the Boyne, where, in the 
courae of the night, they received as many 
of their dismounted companions as had the 
good fortune to reach that point of gene- 
ral rendezvous." *'When the Wexford 
band,*' he continued, " was necessitated to 
make a division of their forces, the dis- 
mounted men were placed under the trust- 
worthy leadership of a bold and experienced 
Shelmalier marksman, named Doyle, who 
commenced the retreat in orderly and well 
organised movement. In the absence, how- 
ever, of the more influential leaden, and 
from that temperament of mind, which is 
not, under such circumstances, at all times 
easy of control, a certain laxity of discip« 
line had become disoanible in the ranks. 
Impelled by a natural levity of disposition^ 



12i 



THB WBXFOSD BBTRBAT. 



and impiftient of delay, iome of the mors 
•ctiye and rolnut had gained gnmnd in ad- 
▼ance of their companiona; elated with 
the prospect of reaehtng' the rendeivous of 
the nighty ere^as they eonorired* their expeo- 
tant fiiendt on horseback wonld content- 
pUtte their anival. Others, from their pre- 
Tione toils and increasing fi^tigues, were 
constrained to sladcen their pace; while 
many of the stiU more weak and wearied, 
fidling in the rear, were relnctantly com- 
pellea to lag behind* 

** The disorder in Doyle's ranks had now 
become obsenrable to snch bodies of the 
yeomanry in&ntry, as in the general state 
of alaraa had sought security by congrega- 
ting at remote and different points for self- 
protection. But emboldened by the ap- 
parent disorganization of the enemy's line, 
they made a better anangement of their 
force; and at interyals were to be seen 
to the right or the left, or following 
at a distance in the rear of Doyle's di- 
rision* Although at no time formidable 
to the main bodr under his command, they 
proyed destructive assailants to all who, 
when separated from their companions, fell 
within the range of their arms. Many un- 
fortunate ' men, in order to avoid a fate, 
otherwise inevitable, when broken down or 
exhausted by privation and &tifue, sought 
concealment m the high standing fields 
of com — ^in the break— in the brushwood, 
or under the thick spreading foliage in the 
dense plantations wnich lay contiguous to 
the line of their retreat. 

** These coverts further afforded temporary 
shelter to numbers who, though weakened 
by the oppressive heat of tSie day, re- 
quired only renovating rest to resume their 
mardi ; and hence, in the coolness of the 
night, many of Uiem effected a retreat, 
and rejoined their friends on the Boyne. 
But many also perished in the shade of 
those recesses, which for two successive 
days were invested by the enemy. But, 
to return from this digression to the more 
immediate subject before us. 

** In appointing Doyle to the command 
of the dismounted men, the superior leaders 
evinced their prudence and discernment. 
They had neither overrated hie abili^i 
ties for the trust, nor his zeal in the 
service ; and throughout the entire Wex* 
ford band, there was no one, perhaps, so 
well adapted to the emergenqr of the occa- 
sion. 

" Doyle was a inan of much native hu- 
mour, of great muscular strength, and in- 
trepid couiage^— qualities which could not 



fiul to render him a fovourits with all 
companions in arms. Of easy drcumstances 
in life, and of lively habits and disposition, 
a considerable portion of his earlier years 
had been devoted to rustic sports and those 
manly exercises in which he excelled. 
Ever active and ardent in all his pursoils, 
his constitutional frame was formed for the 
toils and privations which it was often his 
fortune to encounter through the Wexford 
campaign. From the commencement of 
his military career, he bore a long Shel- 
malier musket,* which, from the deadly 
precision of its fire, was, in compliment 
to its owner, pronounced *<Doyle*s ord- 
nance,*' for whether on land or water, 
Doyle never missed his mark. When am- 
munition was scarce in the ranks — a dr* 
cumstance which often occurred during the 
insurrectionary war — no man ever thought 
of reserving his own if Doyle wanted a 
charge ; and that charge was sure to tell 
with effect. 

*' However popukr the qualities of the 
leader, or unreserved the confidence of his 
men, Doyle's situation had now become 
an arduous one, — ^presenting difficulties, as 
he advanced, which required all the ener- 
gies of his active mind, and the firmness of 
his bold and daring spirit to surmount. 
The intempemte ardour of some — ^the phy- 
sical weakness oi others — ^tho many inci- 
dental occurrences attendant on a retreat, 
had reduced his once formidable band to a 
slender and comparatively inefficient force. 
In proportion to his weakness the enemy 
acquired confidence ; and while they avoid- 
ed a contact, they omitted no opportunity 
of annoyance when it could be resorted to 
with impunity. But beyond a certain line 
of district where the country became more 
open and less fibvourable to the system of 
their pursuit, they conceived it imprudent 
to advance. 

" Doyle was scareely freed from the teas- 
ing, but rto the unfortunate detached of his 
followers,) destructive enemy, when he had 
to contend with fresh difficulties, where he 
had least contemplated any obstruction. 
An outpost, consisting of a subaltern offi- 
cer, with a detachment of dragoons, had 
that morning been established by order of the 
British general, at a considemble distance 

* A firelock of more than ordinary dimensioiis, 
and in the exercise of which, the inhabitanta of 
certain districta in Wexford displayed peculiar 
address. In more peaceful times Uiose arms were 
principally used for shootinir waterfoul ; an 
amusement in which the Wexford aportsmea were 
itfnfalarly expert. 



THS WSXFORD RSTRBAT. 



125 



ftom the sceae of action; and it most 
be presumed that this post was considered 
of importance, as orders were nyen to re- 
tain it throughout the day. On removal 
of the British dragoons, the brigade-major 
replaced them hj a squadron of yeoman 
caralry ; and in conformity with his duty, 
and the command of his superior, the re- 
quisite disposals were made for maintaining 
the position. The officer now in com- 
mand had a stake in the country, and it 
must consequently be inferred, a more 
than ordinary interest in its internal secu* 
rity. But it is to be feared that> like many 
of these ciyil aspirants to military £ime, 
he had not contemplated the casualties of 
the fieldi when rested with the enviable 
appointment of captain commandant of a 
young men's corps. He was a gentleman, 
however, respectable in his station — ^though 
better suited for social enjoyment than 
martial toils* llie position which this 
officer had hitherto maintained in peace- 
ful security, was now to be disputefd by a 
daring foe. It lay in the direct line in 
which Doyle was advancing, and an en- 
eounter appeared to be inevitable. But it 
was not the interest of the latter to pro- 
voke a conflict ; for his troop, however 
efficient in the morning, could now scarcely 
number forty toil-worn men, while the 
slender stock of ammunition was inade- 
onate for the supply of the enfeebled 
force. There was no time, however, now 
for parley or retreat The parties, as if 
by instinctive movement, had more closely 
approached; and the cavalry, not many 
paces in advance of their opponents, pre- 
sented a formidable array — well appointed, 
fi'esh, and apparently ardent for action. 
Doyle halted his little band, and arranged his 
men for the onset. They cheered ! such was 
their uniform custom commencing an at- 
tack ; it was the cheer of men determined 
<« to do or die." The cavalry, unaccustomed 
to the loud huzza for the charge, broke from 
their ranks, and the Wexford men, with ac- 
celerated movement, pursued their march. 
But the honor of the corps was commit- 
ted ; and the orders of the district officer 
had been conveyed in language too intelli- 
gible to be trifled with. Again the squad- 
ron formedi and with a good show of 
couragOy followed up in the enemy's line 
of retreat, continuing, as they advanced, 
to disdiarge their pistols with little re- 
serve» and as little efiect. Meantime a few 
shots of well directed musketry from the 
retreating ranks, served to check the ardour | 
of the pursuers. Doyle arailed hioMelf of 



every advantage which the diversity of 
ground afforded him. At one time me- 
nacing his pursuers—at another, manoBu- 
vering to avoid a conflict ; but on all oc- 
casions sustaining that confidence amongst 
his men, which rendered them insensible 
to their own weakness. He would halt at 
intervals his wearied companions, to take 
breath; and in the face of the enemy 
amuse them with humorous and sarcastic 
observations on the order and discipline of 
the ''valourous dragoons!" who uniformly 
reined back the moment he presented the 
unerring Shelmalier. 

''So far, by his firmness and address^ 
Doyle had kept the enemy at bay. But 
wearied by the persevering annoyance to 
which he was momentarily exposed ; and 
sensible, moreover, from the exhausted 
condition of his men— -that in a little 
time they would be unable to sustain a 
serious assault, he at once resolved to put 
an end to the pursuit. In a loud Mid de- 
termined tone of voice, he commanded a 
halt I Then, extending his line in single 
file, he &ced round to the enemy, who 
had drawn up, not a hundred paces in the 
rear. This unexpected manceuvre pro- 
duced a considersble sensation on both 
sides. Doyle seized the *' lucW moment," 
and stepping forward in the ut>nt of his 
division, levelled his long Shelmalier mus- 
ket on the shoulder of a gigantic Wexfor- 
dian, who rested on one knee, to afford 
greater facility to the trusty roaricsman. 
Then, taking a cool and delibemte aim at the 
commander of the cavalry corps, who, under 
the range of the deadly instrument, seemed 
as if spell-bound to the spot,—-'' I have him» 
my boys I" he exclaimed ** steady, my 
sons ! and with the blessing of heaven, 
the scarlets shall smoke in their saddles !" 
The fearful deminciation was scarcely ut- 
tered, when a quick and retrograde move* 
ment of the squadron left Doyle an undis- 
puted passage to the long desired rendez- 
vous for the night. 

" So long as any section of the Wexford 
forces held together, their courage and dis- 
cipline rendered them formidable o]^>ouents : 
whilst under every disaster, they evmced an 
energy of mind chsracteristic of the i^irit 
that prompted them to their daring enters 
prise. Individual sufferings were great, but 
sustained with a manly firmness which 
seemed to render the unfortunate superior 
to the ills of his condition. 

" Although the number of those who per- 
ished has never been accumtely ascertained, 
we can, nevertheless, contemplate — ^fropi the 



126 



THB WBXTOBD BKTREAT. 



monumento of mortality, still discernible 
throughout the district — the fate of many 
victims. Of those lonely and widely scat- 
tered graves, we have already passed several, 
but they are more frequently to be met with 
by the rustic in his labours of the field, or 
by the pedestrian traveller, as at intervals they 
cross his path, eliciting his simple but 
solemn '' reguteseeU,** in pious memento of 
the spirit that is fled. 

" In some places are to be traced little ver* 
dant mounds of earth, which, from their first 
formation, the plough has never furrowed. 
In others, small cairns or tumuli, composed 
of grey field stones, collected from the surface 
of the gravelly soil ; and over which a light 
covering of moss has extended, present- 
ing, on a superficial view, an antique ap- 
pearance, more resembling the production 
of by-gone ages, than of modem times. — 
Several of these have from time to time been 
levelled, or removed, either to make way for 
agricultural improvement, or to obliterate 
remembrances of the past. But the grassy 
moimd, and moss covered cairn, are still 
monuments of popular respect, and designa- 
ted to this hour, in the native lansuage of 
the country. " Wia owidogh Wexfordagh,'* — 
" The Wexford man s grave !" 

In directing my attention to some of these 
humble sepulchres, my companion, in feeling 
language, adverted to the fate of those un- 
fortunate men who, when separated from the 
armed body of their companions, sought for 
temporary security in the fields of standing 
com, where many closed a toil<*wom exists 
ence ; and many, by hunger and privation, 
rendered reckless of life, quitted the place 
of their concealment to meet a less lingering 
doom. 

" From yonder dilapidated towers," said 
he, " on the east — once a splendid monu- 
ment of national pride — the early seat 
of liberal science, and the practical school of 
moral virtue,* down to the bleak ruins of 
Michelstown castle on the west, there is 
scarcely an intervening mile of ground that 
does not record a scene of suffering or dis- 
aster. There, amongst the unlettered tombs 
that meet your eye, you perceive one more 
conspicuous than the rest, from the rude 
attempt of some rustic sculptor to delineate 
a horseman, on the surface of a huge un- 
wrought stone at the head of the grave. 
The lines, however, have been so superficially 
markedi that little now remains of the ori- 
ginal character, though it is evident that 

* The ancient Abbey and Collegiate edifice, 
near the )>eautiful yiUag^e of Slane, on the river 



some fdendly hand has endeavoured to re- 
trace them. 

" The subject of this singular mark of res- 
pect was a young man, whose fate ex- 
cited, at the time, a more than ordinary 
feeling of sympathy throughout our neigh- 
bourhood. He was in the division of the 
mounted men, but his horse failing, he 
had the misfortune, in common with others, 
to be left behind. Young, active, and 
robust, he was successful in evading the 
vigilance of his pursuers, and for a time 
lay concealed in the vicinity of a res- 
pectable fami-house, the good family of 
which took a lively interest in his preserva- 
tion. But there was one still more ardent 
than the rest, who seemed particularly de- 
voted to his safety. The daughter of his 
hospitable host perceived, it is said, in their 
yoimg and interesting guest, qualities and 
acquirements beyond his apparent condition. 
And though brief the period of his so- 
journ, it afforded a moment for the mutual 
avowal of feelings which the conscious heart 
of either perhaps had needed no avowal to 
disclose. 

" The stranger was captured by a scouring 
party of yeomanry dragoons. His lively 
and preposessing appearance seemed to have 
produced in their ranks a sentiment less 
hostile than might have been anticipated 
from the general conduct of those who were 
now to be arbiters of his fate. They did not 
give way to these barbarous taunts — or those 
mde and bmtal bursts of exultation, with 
which, on similar occasions, the unfortunate 
captive was often greeted ; and notwith- 
standing the two-fold crime of Rebel and 
Wexfordian, a desire was evinced by se- 
veral individuals of the party, if not for 
the preservation of the prisoner's life, at least 
fmr a temporary suspension of his punish- 
ment. It was therefore determined U^ he 
should not be debarred whatever possible 
advantage a trial might afford him : and with 
this view the corps generally agreed to con- 
vey their prisoner to ChamherHown Hill, 
where a turbulent species of mock military 
tribunal was then awarding judgment on the 
devoted heads of those who had not already 
been disposed of in a more summary manner. 

" The prisoner, confident that his doom was 
decreed, seemed little to regard by what 
mode or procedure the thread of his life was 
to be severed. He was too well aware of his 
situation to indulge in hopes of mercy from 
any tribunal military or civil, however he 
might have expected from a £eeling of 
christian charity in the breasts of others, 
a momentary respite to reflect on the awful 



THB WBaCFOBD BBIBEAT* 



181 



change between time and eternity ! The 
tn>op was now on its n>an:h, and with the 
unfortunate victim placed behind the saddle 
of a dragoon, had proceeded but a short 
way, when the sergeant in command reined 
back his horse, and without any pre- 
vious intimation of his diabolical design, 
addressed the prisoner. " Come, sir," said 
he, '* we have other duties to attend to, we 
can no longer be encumbered with yon," and 
presenting his pistol, he added '' Open your 
breast." *' And here it is I" exclaimed the 
dauntless fellow, baring his bospm, " and as 
true a breast as ever bled for Ireland I" A 
bullet from the assassin's pistol pierced his 
heart I 

" The person behind whom the prisoner was 
mounted in the yeomanry ranks is yet living. 
I have known him for many years. He 
then was, and still is, amongst the first class 
of extensive and independent land-holders of 
his district. And in the Barony of Morgal- 
lion, or any other Barony in Meath, there 
does not exist a man of higher integrity and 
moral worth. The circumstance which I 
have narrated nearly cost this gentleman 
his life; and had not the shock produced 
by the wanton and barbarous act^ unnerved 
him at the moment, the assassin in all pro- 
bability had followed his victim. And yet 
the perpetrator of this foul deed, and of 
others scarcely less atrocious, was permitted, 
strange as at this day it may appear, to re- 
tain his rank and station in the corps, un- 
punished and unreprimanded by his supe- 
riors." 

Our next object of mournful interest was 
Chamberstaum JBilL " Here" observed my 
friend, " was the seat of that memorable tri- 
bunal — ^whether under the sanction of autho- 
rity, or self constituted, we shall not now 
stop to enquire^before which so many of 
our.unfortunate fellow mortals were consigned 
^to death ; and transferred with less ceremo- 
ny to the executioner, than the vender of 
cattle tells over the number of his beeves to 
the purchaser. 

" It was a refinement on cruelty, and a 
wanton aggravation of his sufferings, to 
debar the prisoner on the awful verge of 
eternity, the spiritual consolation which 
religion imparts. 

** The Rev. Mr. Mulligan was at that time 
the pastor of this parish fRathkenny); 
and, prompt at the call of humanity, he 
hastened to the scene of suffering. But 
here the charitable divine had to encounter 
every species of that rude and repulsive 
treatment, which it required the humility 
of the Christian and the teA of the mis- 



sionary to endure. The armed rabble 
that surrounded the scaffold was comprised 
of an infantry corps of yeomanry of the 
lowest character and grade — the passive 
instruments of an officious superior, who 
appeared on this occasion to exercise, in 
his own proper person, the several duties 
appertaining to the functions of a " military 
court." 

" It was interesting to witness amongst the 
crowd of prisoners, who now only awaited 
the more formal announcement of their 
fate, the apparent diversity of haman feel* 
ing, in a general uniformity of human suf- 
fering — the calm composure of some, the 
lighter carriage of others, but the fortitude 
and firmness of all. And when the mind 
seemed to be most deeply impressed with 
those sentiments, which the awful moment 
was so well calculated to excite, a lively 
sally of native humour would often betrey 
that elasticity of soul, so easy of excite- 
ment, and characteristic of our countrymen. 
'< It was a bad job for me," exclaimed a 
county Meath peasant — one of the few who 
were supposed to have fidlen in with the 
Wexford line — *'lt was an unfortunate 
job for me, to leave my wife and children 
this morning, and be hanged before sun- 
set." '< Unfortunate I" replied a Wexford 
conrict, scarcely able to stand erect from 
the fiitigues and privations he had encoun- 
tered — *' unfortunate ! why, man, you should 
be proud to be allowed the honour of dying 
for your country, when you have done so 
little to deserve it." 

" If the brutal haste displayed in the exe- 
cution of the prisoners, was yet more dread- 
ful to their feelings than the announcement 
of the sentence under which they were about 
to suffer, those feelings at times were scarcely 
less outraged by the gratuitous insults 
offered to the mild minister of their religion. 
Whilst the patient dirine bore with Chris- 
tian meekness the taunts and ribaldries 
with which he was assailed, his humble 
penitent could not always regard with equal 
composure the insulting treatment of his 
unoffending priest ; but by a simple word, 
or more impressive look, would often be- 
tray the indignant feelings which he was 
at little pains to conceal. '* Don't mind 
him, your reverence," exclaimed a hardy 
Wexrordian, roused by the repeated impre- 
cations of the petulant commander, ' dr— n 
you, dispatch and be gone ;* and while the 
daring culprit alternately eyed the minister 
of peace with a soothing look of mctet com- 
passionate respect, and the unfeeling dis- 
penser of his own iM with a dark soewl 



12a 



rUZ WEXFOBD R^niEAT. 



of defiaace, be eupbaticMdly added, " Don't 
mind him, your reyerence ; ke is anfy a yeo^ 
mamryl — And now, boys," turniog to the 
guard that anrronnded the scaffold, '< help 
me up ; and this" — presenting a small prayer 
book, which he held open in his hand — 'Uhis' 
for any of yon who can read, and has cha- 
rity to pray for the soul of a Wexford- 
man."* As he attempted to mount the 
unsteady and rudely formed scaffold, '< God 
help me,^ he said, with a playful smile, 
** I'm not half so active as I used to be. 
But no shame for that! We had the 
tough as well as the. smooth before vis, 
and no|(^aa Idle day ^ince the battle <x Ross. 
Well! as* I \^as true to the cause, may 
God speed my' soul !*' 

'< The *< military court" continued to pur- 
sue the work of death; and whilst the 
labours of that tribunal were hicreased by 
the introduction of fresh victims, its duties 
were occasionally relieved by the prompt- 
ness of the patroles, in the less ceremoni- 
ous disposal of the prisoners. From the 
search of corn fields and the adjacent thick- 
ets, the local yeomanry proceeded to, the 
investment of private dwellinp, of which 
it could hardly be supposed that any sus- 
picion should be entertained. But the par- 
sonage house had afforded them a victim ; 
and another roof might give shelter to the 
fugitive rebel, though the master of the 
mansion were untainted as the benevolent 
divine. Away then the party rode, direct 

to the house of Mr. O n, a respectable 

Protestant gentleman of the neighbour- 
hood ; and, whether having received in- 
formation, or acting on anything more than 
mere suspicion, it matters not ; but, with a 
confident air of authority, they demanded 
that the fugitive rebels, of whom they were 
in pursuit, should instantly be placed at 
their disposaL Mr. O— -n was a man 
of much personal worth — of humane dis- 
position and scrupulous honor; and he 
oindidly admitted that he had affoided re- 
lief to three unfortunate men who had 
thrown themselves on his protection ; but 
added, that however oppo^ his senti- 
ments were to the political views which 
they had maintained, he had neither com- 



* It may be inferred that the guard was deficient 
in one or other of these qnalities, for the boolc was 
sabeeqaently deposited with a pious inhabitant in 
the adjoining pariah (Castletown,) I saw it hi the 
good man'spossession. — ^It was a "doable manual ;" 
on the title page was written in a Uix and legible 
hand, *' Peter Hoare,"uLd on the unprinted leaf to 
the left was recorded the date ofhis marriage^ and 
the birth of two of Us efafldreo. 



promised his duty to society, nor hia allegi- 
ance to the crown. He found it vain, 
however, to parley with men on the acent 
of blood ; and the objects of his humane 
solicitude became the captives of the san- 
guinary patrol. Many moments had not 
intervened when the design of the party 
became too palpable to be mistaken. The 
prisoners, placea in front of the line, cast a 
silent but expressive look on their humane 
benefiictor, and wi|h apparent resignation 
awaited their fiite. *' Hold T exclaimed 
0-— »-n,/<do you think that I will suffer 
^ these mf^ to be murdered at my door, to 
whom I have afforded the shelter of my 
roof? No I if it must be, take them 
to head quarters, and there exhibit your 
charge against them; that is your duty, 
and remember ! I hold you to it." The 
bold and decisive character of this 
gentleman, together with his influential 
station in the neighbourhood, so far pro- 
duced a salutary restraint as to impede, for 
the moment, the sanguinary deed about 
to be perpetrated; and the discomfited 
party, with the respited victims, proceeded 
on their route. But, when no longer 
awed by the presence of the man who had 
marred their morning sport, the nefivioua 
band murdered their prisoners on the way. 

** Enough of these melancholy relations— ^ 
Would that with the actors of those san- 
guinary scenes, the remembrance had also 
passed away. But though the homicide 
and the victim are no longer before us, 
some silent memorial almost hourly meets 
our view,. recalling, unbidden to the mind, 
direful recollections of the past. A few 
miles north-east of where we stood, and rising 
o^er the waters of the Boyne— «re the 
dense plantations of Dowth ; where under 
their green wood shelter, the Wexford 
leaders received such of their scattered forces 
as had the fortune to reach the appointed 
rendezvous of the night. Thence, at dawn 
of morning, they marched for the plains of 
Kildare. 

^ ^ I have already observed, that the gar- 
risons of Drogheda and Slane were not 
far distant firom the post which the Wexfoid 
troops occupied during the night. From 
these points they encountered no annoy- 
ance; nor did Navan — ^the head quarters 
of the British general commanding the 
midland district,— offer any serious impedi- 
ment to their march. They pursued their 
route in good order, and leaving Meath 
with all its disastrous occurrences behind 
them, they entered with encreasing oonfi- 
deoce the metropolitan county. A few 



GOLD. 129 



hoorg now would bare secured their retreat, 



end placed them under the protection of The Wexford band .was routed, and their 



Ajlmer'a lines. 

'' Hitherto thej had struggled against the 
nuuay ills incidental to their daring enter- 
prise* But this once fcnrmidable force, which 
only the day before had contended for vic- 
tory with some of the best disciplined 
troops of Britain, was now reduced in num* 
bers, worn with fiitigue and nearly defence- 
less in ammunition. Onward, however, they 
pursued their course ; till within ten miles 
of Dublin they encountered a division of 
the royal army. 



" The engi^;ement was short, but decirive. 



leader^ separated in the conflict, after whidi 
those gallant chieftains were fat^ never 
again to meet. RtxgerM with some of tibe 
scattered troops regained Aylmer's lines. 
*8 subsequent fortunes i^ord a melan- 
choly passage in the page of history, with 
which, unhappily, his countrymen are too 
fiumtiar. Thu6 ended the namtive of my 
friend ; and with this, the limited space'al- 
lowed me, compels me fer the present, to 
conclude. 



GOl-D. 

A yoath and muden were betrothed — a young and hai^y pair ; 

He was of noble generous miud, and she sorpassing fair : 

Their path of life seemed strewed with flowers of fairest, brightest bloom ; 

Alas ! that such a mom of life should end in storm and gloom. 

I saw her at the altar — an old man by her Me ; 

In ealm despairingmisery she vowed to be his bride. 

Yet she'd not forget her loFer, though wide seas between them roUed— 

Then what has caused this misery ? — A father's loye of Gdd I 

I knew a man so old, death had already marked his prey ; 

He gloated o*er rich heaps of coin that all around him lay. 

A former benefactor craved a mite from his rich store ; 

The old man tottered down to drive the beggar from his door. 

Yet, time was, when he would have wept to see affliction's tear : 

When he'd bat little for himself, that little he would share ; 

Though now that he has boundless wealth, so callous and so cold. 

And what has caused this wondrous change ? — That wonder-worker—Gold ! 

'Within a dungeon cell was one, fettered and ghastly pale, 

Whose haggard brow was never more to feel the fresh'ning gale 

That on his native hills had played amongst his flowing hair, 

Ere deeds of fearful crime had brought him, all nnpitied, there. 

He'd made a mother husbandless, and from her infants snatched 

The father's care, that should have o'er their helpless childhood watched; 

And now the scaffold soon his closing hour was to behold. 

And what made him a murderer ? — Again — the love of Gold ! 

There was a gallant stately ship, in all her sails arrayed 

To catch the Ught and buoyant breeze that through her rigging strayed : 

Joy beamed in every face around — ^they thought of home and friends : 

"When lo I a sail appears in view— their dream of pleasure ends. 

They saw tiie pirate's blood-red flag come s:ireepiiig o'er the wave. 

And n<Mrth, or^south, or east, or west, there was not one to save. 

But one of all the crew remained, the dark tale to unfold. 

And what has caused this crime and blood ?-^Once more! — the thirst for Gold t 

The wretched sons of Africa bend 'neath the driver's rod. 

And bow, and cringe, and tremble at the petty tyrant's nod. 

Dost note yon man of bearing proud, though mark'd with slav&y's brand ? 

He was a much loved prince when he was in his native land ; 

Now — torn from subjects, kindred, friends, he thus is lashed to toil : 

And why? — His colour's black, and he was bom on negro soil ! 

And thus men by their fellow-men are chained, and bought, and sold ; 

All, aU this mighty wrong is done for Gold — accursed Gold I 

Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself, the God of Israel said :«« 

8aith Man — I love myself and gold — the pain be on my head* 

And thus the wretched ftitile tUng — ^the being of an hour. 

Can dare the retribution of his mighty Maker's power : 

And centr'ng dl his feeling on that one sole object — self. 

Lots covetousness rale his life, and seeks no good but pcjf ; 

And death must clasp his eneigies within his icy fold, 

£relbdesthep«8doiKofhi«hnrt> wUdievergrfi^at Gold. F* 



ISO 



ClUTICAIi N0TIGE8, 



CRITICAL NOTICES, 



Manon LtBcauU From the French of 
M. VAbh^ PretoeU EluHraUd by Tony 
JohannoU Part /. — /F. London : 
Thomas. Publin: Machbn. 1840. 

DfiROGATORY as it may be to our character 
for taste and universal acquirement^ we 
must confess we have never read the origi- 
nal of this work : the translation, therefore, 
came upon us with all the charms of no- 
velty. And yet, what we have read of it 
in the four monthly parts now in our hands, 
has hardly equalled the expectations raised 
in us by the warm praises of a variety of 
critics. 

Possibly this may be in a great measure 
because we had it not in our power to read 
the book through at once. Any work so 
simple in style as Manon LeeeatU, and 
in which the interest is confined to two or 
three characters, must necessarily suffer 
from a fragmentary perusal; as must, in 
foict, every work, and especially a fiction, 
which has any unity as a conception, or en- 
during merit as a work of art. Any book, 
deserving to be called a book, be it poem, 
or romance, or history, must be seen as a 
whole, and judged as a wholei before it can 
be properly appreciated, or fully enjoyed. 
This, by the way, is one reason among 
many, why books should be of a moderate 
length, and why so many more countries 
have succeeded best, and produced the 
greatest variety of excellence, in those 
branches of literature, on which the very 
nature of them has imposed the strictest 
limits — to wit, the Lyric, and the' Dramatic 
— than in any other whatsoever. 

Profitable as the system of piecemeal 
publication may be for the booksellers, and 
some of their employes, ^e may yet count 
those ages fortunate that knew not the in- 
novation. They have thereby had the luck 
to produce much that they, and we alike, 
must else have wanted. Let the reader, if 
he &as the courage, fancy Wilhelm Meister^ 
or Undine^ or the Vicar of Wakefield, or 
the Colleens, published, for the first time, 
by weekly or monthly instalments, and pa- 
tiently deposited, layer after layer, to ripen 
or to rot in the memory's store-room, till 
all were gathered, and the heap complete ; 



published, we have said, for M to their 
authors having so produced them, with the 
unripe fruit of their imperfect, and to them* 
selves as yet but half revealed creations, 
lying piled on every stall, and cheapened at 
every crossway — we need not suppose that, 
for so they could never have been. Not 
thus are the wonders of art called into ex- 
istence, nor such the greeting men should 
give them. 

The chief exceptions we know of, and 
those more apparent than real, are the an- 
cient serious epic, as the Iliad and the 
Odyssey, which have properlv neither begin- 
ning nor end ; and tne modem comic epic, 
as Don Quiaote, and Tristram Shandy, in 
which the humours of one predominant 
character deck, with their prismatic hues, 
the entire field of vision, — the wide pros- 
pect of humanity, over which we travel 
with them. Productions of this kind, 
inexhaustible as nature herself, and like her 
unique and infinite, may be better than 
others apppreciated in portions^ though still 
their unity as existences must sink deep 
into the gazer's soul, and ever be mutely 
present there, if with glad heart he would 
enjoy, or worship in a reverent spirit. 

But enough, for the present occasion, of 
topics, which, if we tarried with them, 
would lead us and our readers into many a 
maze ; we merely meant to observe, 
apropos of the publication before us, that 
we think it a pity that of late in France 
and England, so many works, of long estal^- 
lished character, should have been repub- 
lished in periodical parts, and thus in that 
fragmentary state, introduced, for the first 
time, to the knowledge of many among the 
young and ardent of that enthusiastic age, 
which books are sometimes found so strange- 
ly to affect and modify. We have been 
sorrv to see such works as the Vicar of 
Wakefield, Paul and Viryiniot Gulliver's 
Travels, and many others, thus cut into 
portions and hawked about, their whole- 
some juices oozing through the hasty seve- 
rance, made by the bungling bookseller. — 
That some of the decorations, with which 
modern publishers have too profusely 
adorned these simple unaffected productions, 
bare a gpood deal of meriti end ate calcula* 



MARON LKflCAtTT. 



181 



ted to extend & taste for the fine arts, we are i 
not disposed to deny ; but we cannot forget 
that most of the advantage of such read- 
ing, depends on the force of the impres- 
sion which, on a first acquaintance with 
them, they leave on the still so plastic and 
recipient mind of the young reader, — and a 
benefit of that kind, between the langour 
of deferred curiosity, and the glitter of 
meretricious illustration, it were vain to 
expect from these monthly reprints: the 
amusement afforded may, perhaps, be equal 
in both cases ; but the charm of that sud- 
den and complete intimacy with the off- 
spring of a master mind, is lost both to the 
head and the heart. 

Manan Lsteaui is, however, very far from 
having pretensions to rank with any of the 
works above named; our excuse for this 
little digression must be found in our anx- 
iety not to judge too harshly of a book, of 
which we have only read a part, as well as 
in our painful consciousness, that works of 
a hi higher order might, in a similar plight, 
be equally the victims of a too hasty 
censure. 

Certain it Is, at all events, that critics of 
sundry climes, and characters still more dif- 
ferent — and critics too of no common cali- 
bre—have agreed, if not in their approval, 
at least in their admiration of Manan LeS' 
eaut. The publisher of the translation, in 
an apologetic address, to which we may 
perhaps again refer, contents himself with 
quoting the praise of Lord Chancellor 
Camden, who says of it, that he '< preferred 
Manan Lescaut to any novel he ever read ; 
that in the whole range of romance, as far 
as he knew, the character of its heroine is the 
only one which owes no part of its in- 
terest to fiction or fiincy ; and that it is a 
faithful and unexaggerated picture of ordi- 
nary life, belonging to no particular age or 
country." Mr. Thomas also repeats the asser- 
tion of M. J ules Janin, that Manon Le$caui is 
the original type of two works, the merits 
of which are universally acknowledged,— 
.^tala, and Paul and Virginia.** 

Whether the clever, though rather su- 
perficial Frenchman be right in this affilia- 
tion, admits of considerable question ; and 
as to Lord Chancellor Camden's opinion, 
we would not give much for it. Of all 
people for making queer choices, and taking 
queerer likings, when in their old age they 
recommence reading,— commend us to dig- 
nitaries of the bench, ^ecially if super- 
annuated, or on the high road thereto. 
One chancellor is said to have resigned his 
office to read, in the original latin, De 

VOL. III. NO. XVI. 



Thou*s hUtary of his oien time ; a great 
work, we believe, as it is undoubtedly a big 
one, but considering what books, with all 
its losses, are still the world's inheritance, 
rather a strange object of such chivalrous 
devotion. Another judge, (by office, and 
by antiphrasis,) made almost an equal sacri- 
fice for the siJce of studying Barclay's Ar- ' 
genis; a book which, in our black-letter 
days, we happen to have tried : our appe- 
tite was keen enough at the time, and 
books a rarity where we were, yet with all 
the good will in the world, and keys and 
commentaries to help us, we could not^ 
either in Latin or French, get throupph a 
quarter of it, — ^but 'twas a famous book in its 
day, so perhaps the judge was in the right. 
We could account ior this strange turn in 
so many ermined amateurs, but it's not 
worth the trouble. 

An authority of a different order, and 
one for whom we entertain great respect, 
is M. de Barante, in his little book, " Be 
la UtUrature Franqaite pendant la due- 
huitieme iOele," a most excellent work, and 
considering the time at which it was writ- 
ten, especially remarkable for the impartial 
calmness with which, amid all the bustle of 
the still protracted friiy, the author views 
and judges the leading characters, the so 
grotesque and various masks in that car- 
nival of the philaeoffhet, of which the ap- 
propriate, but too significant ending was 
the eulbtUe ^enercUe. Selecting Marivaux 
and Prevost, from a group of once popular 
novelists, M, de Barante remarks ot the 
latter : — 

" This author*ft mode of life had an injurionji 
effect a|K>n his works. If he had not been forced 
to make his fruitful pen a constant source of sub- 
sistence, he woidd undoubtedly have left a higher 
reputation. In all that he has written, we ftnd 
something to please and interest us. He has a 
simple way of telling a story : nothing in liis com- 
positions, or in the style of them, seems to aim at 
effect. He relates erents without maldng them 
the subject of reflections ; he depicts passionate 
scenes, wiUiout himself appealing moved. But as 
the story is simply told, the reader is affected, as 
if the fact itself . were passing before his eyes. In 
general the Abb^ JPreTOst has taken little trouble 
to sound the dq;itlis of passion. Once only has he 
tried that sort of writing, and without abandoning 
his own peculiar manner, he has in that instance 
proved eminently affecting. In Mam<m Leteant he 
has been content to be the Ustoriaa of tha^[iassions, 
as in his other fictions he had been of mere adven- 
tures; but this is done with such truth, that there 
was no need of eloquence to de]^ot the feelings of 
the heart ; for him it was suffldent merely to re- 
late them. On the whole, the charaeter of his works 
seems to belong to a diflisrent age. To tett naively 
what they had seen, or fancied that they saw, to 
put forth few reflections, to enter bito no minute 

K 



132 



GBinOAL N0TICK9. 



detail of leaiiiatai* and neTtr to affeot it, was 
the fadiUm of the atoiy'^ellen of the good old 
time; and Prevost'a wriUngs haye many of these 
eharacteriatica." 

Not less &ToaraUe« though based upon 
other groundsy is the testimony of Leigh 
Hunt, in bis pleasant Euayon Ancient and 
Modam Thim>eSf which the curious reader 
will find in the first volume of the Indu 
catar. 

'< The only inatanee in whieh the character of 
an abflolutelj profligate pickpodcet waa ei^er made 
comparatiyeiy welcome to onr grayer feelings, is 
in the extraor^ary story of Mohoh Itescaut, by 
the Abb^ Preyost. It Is the story of a young 
man, so passionately in loye with a profligate fe- 
malcy that he foUaiws her through eyery species of 
vice and misery, eyen when she is sent aa a con- 
ylct to New Orleans, His loye, indeed, is re- 
tumedi He is obliged to subsist upon her yices, 
and, In return, is induced to help her with his 
own, becoming a cheat and a swhidler to supply 
her ootrageons extrayagances. On board the 
conyict ship (if we recoUect^ he waits on her 
tlurough eyery species of squaUdness ; the convict 
dress and her shayed head only redoubling his 
loye by the help of pity. This seems a shoddng 
and yery humoral boolc ; yet multitudea of very 
reputable pe<^le haye found a charm in it. The 
fact is, not only that Manon is beautiful, sprightly, 
really tond of her loyer, and after all, becomes re- 
formed; but H is delightfhl, and ought to be so, 
to the human heart, to see a vefai of sentiment and 
real goodness looking out through aU this ealloua 
surface of guilt. It is like meetuig with a tree in 
a squalid hole of a city s a flower, or a frank face, 
in a reprobate purlieu. The capabilities of hu- 
man nature are not compromised. The yirtue 
alone seems natural; the guilt, aa it often is, seems 
artifioia], and the result of bad education or other 
circumstance. Nor is any body iii^ured. It is 
one of the shallowest of all shallow notions to talk 
of the harm of such works. Do we think nobody 
is to be honoured but the yirtuous ; or that there 
are not priyileged harms and yices to be got rid 
of as well as unpriyileged ? No good-hearted per- 
son will be injured by reading Mantm Leteaui, 
There is the belief in goodiun in it; a faith, the 
yrant of which does so much harm, both to the 
vicious and the oyer-righteous." 

Part of this is, we fear, a little sophisti- 
cal, and might easily be wrested in farour 
of publications haying most of the fiiults of 
Manon LeseatU^ without any of its redeem- 
ing qualities. Whether Mr. Leigh Hunt 
need hare entered into so minute n defence 
of it, is a question on which we are not yet 
competent to decide. So &r as we have 
read, we have found little to justify Mr. 
Thomas'a deprecation of apology, (by which, 
as the fiishion is, he in effect apologizes) 
** for those too truthful pictures of human 
life, and that warmth of expression, which 
are to be found in its pages. Whether he 
has softened down in the translation what 
was indecent in the original, we know not ; 
but as yet we haye met nothing that startled 



ufl. Nine out of ten of aaoderm Ei^liah 
novels eontun things just aa offsnaiye, and 
out of all comparison mora likely to mis- 
lead and corrupt. 

The illustrations, which are from the pen- 
cil of the celebmted Tony J«hannot» ara, we 
think, hardly equal to some other produc- 
tions of his ; they are oocaaionaUy deficient 
in spirit and in diaraeter; atill, wlien con* 
trasted wi& the mode of illustntioD now 
so popular in England, they speak &yoiiFa- 
bly for the superior taate of the French peo- 
ple. If we ratum to this work, aa it is very 
possible we may upon its oonmletioB, we 
shall pass them in more detailed review. 
Meantime the publication is undeniably a 
cheap one, and when completed will make 
a yery handsome volume. 

ToNei nf Anafyiit in the MciH Way^ and 
by tks Blow Pipe; together with the 
Chemical Symlxus and Equivalents : By 
Edward Bbittan. Dublin : Faknin. 
London : Longman, 1840. 

Knowing of no more accumte criterion 
whereby to judge of the advoice of know- 
ledge among a community, than is afUbrded 
by the character of the works, both as to 

Saality and price, which daily issue from 
le press — we haU with pleasmre the little 
book now before us, as an evidence that the 
Irish public ore beginning to take a greater 
interest in scientific pursmts. The book is 
neatly bound in cloih, and lettered ; it 
contains eight closely printed and weU ar- 
ranged tables, any one of which is ample 
value for the price (one shilling) charged 
for the entire. 

To the medical student we would strongly 
recommend these tables ; in his toxicologi- 
cal studies he will find Uiem of infinite va- 
lue, as well from the saving of time, which 
results from having the more important re- 
actions set before him in a tabular form, as* 
from the clear and comprehensive manner in 
which the tables are arranged. 

Mr. Brittan has supplied a want which 
has been long felt by the junior students, 
and is entitled to their wannest support for 
the judicious manner in which he luis done 
it If his book has but the eflect of calling 
attention to that important and much neg- 
lected branch of medical knowledge, he will 
have justly earned the respect of his coun* 
trymen, few of whom have had not repeated 
opportunities of seeing how, in medico-legal 
enquiry, the life of a fellow-being depends 
on the accuracy and skill with whicn the 
medical practitioner applies his chemical 
reagents. 



BTOBIBEl AB0I7T ALFRED THE GREAT, ETC. 



188 



We perceive by the dedication that Mr. 
Brittan was the pupil of Dr. Kane. The 
pupil is justly proucl of his teacher ; and for 
this> the " first fruits" of his instruction, in 
our opinion, the teacher need not blush. 

Stories aboiU Alfred the Chreal, for the 
Amusement and Instraction of Children. 
By A. M. S. Dublin : Browne. Lon- 
don: Dolman. 1840. 

The character of this dever little work 
will be best shewn by quoting the pre- 
face:— 

" In offering this book to the public I mast mention 
that I have been careful to relate truths for my 
youthful readers. To give my authorities ui the 
margin, I thought unnecessary in a book for 
children, but the facts contained in these pages 
may be found in the writings of one or other of 
the following antiquarians : Dr. Lingard, Mr. 
Sharon Turner, Dr. Milner, or the indefatigable 
Alban Butler. When I told these stories to my 
own young listeners, there were many questions 
they asked which led to further stories : in this lit- 
tle book I have omitted such details— the exf^a- 
tions that amuse some children, might not suit 
others. May I be allowed to add, that I hope the 
faults of the story-teller will be f<»given in the 
interest which all must feel for the Great King 
Alfred." 

The compiler is eyidently not a very 
practised writer, but the notion is a good 
one, and capable of being worked out with 
great effect. If she has not altogether suc- 
ceeded in this, apparently her first attempt, 
it is fidrly attributable, first, to the very 
narrow limits to which she has chosen to 
confine herself; and secondly, to her de- 
tailing less of the life of that period, and 
more of the bare events, than is desirable 
in a book for children. Looking forward 



with pleasure to the continuation of this 
little series, we recommend the authoress to 
adopt an easier style, and to be a little more 
sparing in the use of long wards — a com- 
modity to which all healthy children have 
most justly a strong dislike. 

The Bookseller^ Charter Song: as com- 
posed and sung at Mr. Cumming's 
Annual Trade Sale, on Wednesday Even- 
ing, 11th Nov. By Mr. J. Feaoak, 
Bookseller. Dublin : Folds. 1840. 

Would that ninety-nine-hundreths of the 
books published were confined to the com- 
pass of this neat little publication. The 
reviewer's task would be in that case both 
an easier and a pleasanter one. The song 
is a judicious combination of learning and 
spirit. We would quote a few verses of ity 
if it were not that most of our readers must 
already have seen it in one or other of the 
Irish or English weekly periodicals, into 
most of which it has been copied at len^h. 
A minute critic might discover some im- 
perfection in the lists of the renowned and 
prosperous of the craft and its supporters, 
both ancient and modem, dead and alive, 
which with a skill only second to that of 
the author of '< the Groves of Blarney," Mr. 
Feagan has managed to include within a 
dozen of verses. But booksellers, like 
other men, have their partialities, and we 
would not wish it otherwise ; and besides, it 
may not be all partiality : the necessities of 
the metre may reasonably come to the au- 
thor's assistance^ if any slighted ghost, or 
forgotten living bibliopole, should call fi^r 
vengeance on his head. 



134 TH£ NATIVE MU«1C OF IREIiAND. 



THE NATIVE MUSIC OF IRELAND. 

In our present number we again present our readers with three Irish airs. . In (he 
mechanical departments of the work^ we are but experimenting. The neglect of every 
matter of art in Ireland has hitherto been so greats that we have had to cope with diffi- 
culties, which few, possibly, of our readers, are prepared to appreciate. The metals lo 
be graven, — the tools to be employed, — the inks to be used, are all in a state of imper- 
fection. The result is, and it has been the case for years, that those requiring any mu- 
sical work of nicety to be executed, go, or send to London for it ; and thus, even in 
Bunting's last beautiful work, in the bringing out of which so much notationality has been 
tastefully displayed, the reader will find the last page deformed with the announcement, 
" London, engraved by H. T. Skarratt, 5, Eyre-street, Hatton-garden." One hundred 
and thirteen plates for an Irish work, especially national, engraved in London I It is 
enough for us to say that while there is a possibility of avoiding a consiunmation so 
devouUy to be deprecated, we shall not resort to it. We are no such philosophers on 
these points as Dr. Whately is. His Grace of Dublin, — an authority much to be 
respected, — ^has lately told us, that there is no person more anxious to encourage Irish 
industry than himself ; and that he has beea convinced that the only efTecUud way to 
encourage Irish manufacture is, to encourage the production of articles of the best quality 
at the cheapest rate. So far all very well, had he talked of encouraging Uiat production 
in Irdand ; but when he rambles on in such fine philosophic abstractions as the fol- 
lowing, we are not for going with him. Quoth the Archbishop, '^ Let them stand on 
their own basis I*' Grand I say we. Quoth the great Anglican economist, *' A forced 
adherence to the manufactures of any country will destroy them ; for it will make the 
workmen lazy, and it will induce them not to take the same care they otherwise would 
do !" Mighty and prophetic speculation ! say we. Quoth the founder of the chair of 
political science in T. C. D., " Increase Irish skill and capital, and then you may leave 
the Irish manufiBu:tures to take care of themselves I" Noble, glorious, and inspiring dis- 
covery I say we. Now, all this must mean at the present crisis, " Stand by and see, 
first, will the country sink or swim. Then, if she swims, all is right; but if she 
sink, why, we can't help it. It is demonstration that she must, and ought to have 
simk — upon principle." We grant ye, " upon principle," — ^yet it may be just as well to 
stretch out an arm and prevent the catastrophe ; for, in truth, afler all, half the political 
economy, so wonderfully current in the great world, is nothing but exceedingly splendid 
reasoning upon a few thread-bare ideas in fine abstract terms of the art ; and, as things in 
reality exist very seldom in that state of absolute abstraction contemplated, the said 
splendid reasoning as often turns out to be about as substantial as moonshine. Thus, souls 
are usually coupled with flesh and blood ; men with passions, feelings, affections, and a 
country ; — ^workmen with wants, appetites, families, and a home ; skill does not produce 
itself,— capital does not create itself, — and when economy has said her best, what will 
become of our manufactures if left entirely to itand on their own bans, and spoutane- 



THE NATIVE MUSIC OF INLAND. 1S§ 

ously to take cars of themselvei f So, in fact, although the London article should prove, 
at the present moment, much smarter and handsomer, and withal, sixpence p0r page 
cheaper, we shall perseyere, against all principles of abstract political economy, in circu* 
lating our Irish production for the use of our friends, in the &ce of the professors and 
their gracious founder. 

We acknowledge that Bunting's work could not have been executed in Dublin in the 
style in which it has been procured from Loildon. We are far, therefore, frt)m UanUng 
the publishers for having gone thither to secure it. What we desire is, that upon this, 
taking it even as matter of taste merely, we may not be blamed because we endeavour to 
stand by our country. We shall make it our business to have the state of the different 
branches of the art investigated and improved ; and we are sure the readers of tie Citizen 
will cheerfully read our native airs, printed from the materials of our native manufacture, 
even whilst we axe as yet unable to produce pages which may match the engravings of 
Hatton Garden* 

No. IV. 

This is another air taken from the ''Farmer and O'ReiOy collection." Its name 
puuim na Dconn signifies " the Sound of the Waves." The former woid is inter- 
preted by O'Reilly, '' sound, rebounding noise, echo, clamour, cry, report ;" so that we 
imagine it is not so much the short uneasy Channel wave that its author thought of, as 
the rolling billow, borne by the tide four thousand miles across the bosom of the Atlantic, 
which first breaks, in its awful magnificence, upon our Western coast, such as you may 
see it, next week, or when you like, from the clifis about the Hag's Head, or along the 
wide spread strands of Miltown Malbay. 

It has often seemed to us to be a fault in the arrangement of our native airs — ^at least 
of many of them^that the English style, of placing a syllable under each note to be 
sung, has been so constantly followed. The harshness of that tongue, — so different, for 
instance, from the Italian,— at once seems to create the necessity for this arrangement, 
and to aggravate the disagreeableness of the style. The short, unprvhngiabh vowels, — 
the multitude of 8. es and Z. es, — ^the perpetual final T. es and D. es, K. es and 6. es, — 
are for ever in the way, and prevent and preclude that flow of the voice so essential to 
song. The Irish is a far different language, and rejoices in a beauty of diction full of 
richness and music. It is, therefore, well adapted to the smoother form which the 
junction or slurring of several notes imparts to the soft airs, which breathe of the '' sweet 
south." 

We have marked this air ** slow," but we by no means intend to indicate that " languid 
and tedious" manner of pla)ring, which Bunting so eloquently warns against. Better 
imitate the waves themselves. 

There are some who fault the metres which the study of the character of our airs gives 
rise to, and which we have adopted. We know they are not those which are daily 
chimed to us on foolscap. But we care not for that. Our first endeavour is that they 
shall suit the melody they are written for ; and we trust that yrh&a the rhythms themselves 
are better observed, the poetic ear will not find them unmusical. 

We accordingly present the following version :— 



136 THE KATIVB MUfllO OF ISBLAMD. 

Puaim na Deonru 

THE BOUND OF THE WAVES. 

I. 

I love to wander when the day is oe'r, 
And hear the waves that bre^ upon the shore ; 
Their heavii^s^ breasts reflect each starry ray 
And aeem to speak of years long past away. 

XL 

In dreamy thought my early friends appear, 
And all I lov*d on earth agafai are near ; 
As oft with me they watched the billow's foam 
That rolled so wildly round our Island home. 

in. 

X see tbdr smile aa oft it beam'd before, 
I hear their voice amid the ocean's roar ; 
And half forget, while gadng on the waves, 
That all I lov'd are sleeping in their graves. 

No. V. 

We next come to a favourite of our youthful days. We had but a feint recollection of 
,Che irozds which we had ao often heard enthusiastically sung to it, in days long gone by. 
Whilst we were applying in various directions, and almost in vain, for copies of the 
words, an old family music book turned up which contained them ! We had been notiDg 
the music fix>m recollection, and had determined, from the style, that it was essentially 
% du0i, and were preparing it for our readers accordingly. Our gratification, therefore, 
wu no whit diminished on finding that the old print itself was an arrangement for two 
voices. Our arrangement difiers, but the tune, of course, is preserved unchanged in 
accordance with our recollections. 

We Imownot the original name of the air. We haveheard it called PlangHy hyta^hi; 
but that we believe was a name given to it merely on the supposition that Edward Lysaght 
was the author of the words : and as his poems have appeared without this song, we sup- 
pose there was no ground for the belief. Many others have been mentioned \ Curran, and 
even Grattan ; but on no authority that we can trace* One of our correspondents calls 
'' the late T. Co]^ingar, Esq., of Cork," the author ; but he accompanies this claim with 
a copy of the words so spurious as to detract fiK>m the confidence which might other- 
wise attach to it. 

The date of the compoiitioQ of the words was clearly antecedent to the Union of 1800. 
The title on the old copy is this :— 

"NO UNION 
FOB OCra DJSAJl HATZYX isuhxn** 

and it is plam, on internal evidence, that the ** destruction" spoken of in the first stanza 

was the <' contemplated Legislative Union." On the other hand, the words in the 

fourth stanza^— 

" A few years ago, 
Though now she says NO.'' 

plainly refer to a period following the era of our Independance in 1782. And then a 
few lines, which we have taken the (great) liberty of altering, (the 2d, 3d, 4th and 6th of 
the*fifth stanza,) run in the original as follows :-— 



VRJi KATITV MUnC OT ISBLAHI). 1^7 

** And ft shan't be a slavish or rUe land, 

^ Nor impitdfint PUt 

" Unpunished eomaiit 
'* An attempt on the rights of our Ssland."* 

This fixes the date to the administration of William Pitt. It may be urged that the 
first stanza alludes to the establishment of the Orange Institution ; and that the writing 
may therefore be referred to a time as late as 1798^ or 1799. But this would be, we 
apprehend, to assign a date later than a more particular enquiry would warrant. Orange 
and green were, we belieye, par^ eolours, long before the Orangemen arose ; and Pitt's 
hostility to Ireland, sucked in with his mother's milk, (if he were ever suckled) was, by 
many significant signs, very early kno?m to us. In the absence of mere distinct tradition, 
we are inclined to assign the song to 1785, when Orde's celebrated propositions, (relative 
to commerce and manufactures) of which Pitt was the originator, set the whole kingdom 
in a ferment. This was a '' few years'' after '82, and a more likely period to give birth 
to such sentiments and such a song, than the heart-broken, terror-stricken, despairing 
efiTorts of '99 and 1800. However this may be, the song is a good one, so good, that we 
may fairly suppose that, as all true ballads do, it gatho^ strength and spirit as it rolled 
from one end of the land to the other, and when new occasions called for its use, was al- 
tered and modified to suit the subject and the time. 

Here are the words : — 

1 

May God, in whose hand 

Is the lot of each land, 
Who rules over ocean and dry land. 

Inspire ovr good king 

lU advisers to fling. 
Ere destruction they bring on oar island, 
Dont we J^Bel 'tis our dear native island. 
A fertile and fine little island. 

May orange and green 

No longer be seen 
Distained with the blood of our Island. 

The fair ones we prize 

Declare they despise 
Those who'd make it a darisk or v&e land i 

Be their smiles our reward. 

And well gallantly goard 
The rights and delights (tf our island. 
For oh 1 'tis a lovely green island ; 
Bright beauties adorn our island, 

At St, Patrick** command. 

Vipers quitted our land. 
But he 8 wanted again m our island. 

3 

For her interest or pride 

We oft fought by the side 
Of England, that haughty and high land ; s 

Nay, we'd do so again. 

If she'd let us remain 
A free and a flourishing island. 

* We may be censured for our substitution. But, first, we thought that few in the present day 
would take much pleasure in singing a song about " Billy Pitt" Secondly, we could not say with 
certahity whether his hitended epithet was ** imp o t en t* * or *' hnp w d e at ;" and certainly, if the former, 
forty years have not verified it As to his impudence, we think it might be ftilly matched amongst 
parliamentary leaders in other days ; and we therefore ventured to generalise the sentiment a little. 
One friend indeed suggests, that our own times would answer quite as well as any other, and would 
have us read 

« Nor Stanley commit. 
Like impudent Pitt, 
An attempt on the rights of oar island." 
But comparisons are odious, and personalities ore to be avoided, A third reasQn was the wuaosical- 
ness of 0ttch rhymes as « Pitt," and << commit." 



138 ^ . THB NATIW MUSIC OP IRBLAXD. 

But she, like a crafty and sly land^ 
DiMention excites in our islandi 
And our feuds to a4juBty 
^ She'd lay in the dust 

All the freedom and strength of our island. 

A few years ago, 
Tho' now she says ho, 
- We agreed with that surly and shy land. 
That each as a friend. 
Should the other defend, 
^ And the crown be the link of each isfaOid;' ^ 

'Twas the final state-bond of each'island ; , . 
Independence we swore to each island; ' ' 
. . > . ' Are we grown.so absurd 
As to credit her word, 
When she's breaking her oath with our island ? 

6 ' .... 

Let's steadily stand 

By our King and our land. 
' And it shan't be a desert or Tile land, :. 

• Nor impudent knaves - 

Ere miaJte us their slayes 
By destroying the rights of our Island. 
Each voice should resound thro' the island, 
You're my neighbour ; but. Bull, this is my land. 

Nature's favourite spoU— ' 

And I^d sooner be shot 
Than surrender the rights of our island. - 

< 

4 

No. VI. 

f . ' 

Another air for the eruU or Violin. We have gif en a separate part for the P4ano-fi»te, 
as our readers may prefer it so. . The rhythm is set for the Irish dance ; and must be 
tremmdautfy marked. In 'fact; if eight millions of feeC— first, right— 4hen, left — 
stamped the earth with the flat of the sole, — each clad with a h\i6j^ and all together — 
the tramp would not be too much. The Greek " Pyrrhic" dance in armour could not 
have equalled it. We have marked the time *' with fire ;" which may answer when it 
is played the first time ; but at each repetition the* time is to be increased, and " with fury*' 
must become the more propiBr designation. In fine, like Bcdtiffharan, (No. 108 in 
Bunting's 3rd collection,) it may be supposed to have been played at the Pagan mid- 
summer-nights' feasts, whilst the mad priests and votaries of Saal danced to it, whirling 
round their bonfires. 



r. > 

t 



- '^ M 



FUAIM NA DTONN. 



THE SOUND of IheWAVTfS . 



■••Is. ■•tr«n 
SLOW. 






4. 




§ I loT« t* wan^^^dcr when tk* da/ la •'•r /And 




SaMpra piano a larato 
* f J — I ■ ^ ■■ 7 1 ji 



h+JH-j^HJ 1 J "I IJ'^-J^'^I 




' H r J 




OUR DKAR NATIYK ISLAND/' 



»U. HMna. J.s AS 



•t 



n 




May Godyifl wkoi« IbMid^lB the Ut kt •ack 'Und, Vko 




*«!•■ 0lT#* •.— eo«, iiid dry Ijuid^ Uu.rplM war^t^Vsuc in ad- 




f 



-Tl-iera to flimr, Rr« d*. ■tncetioa tbejr brlBc en •!» Islaad! 




IRISH DANCE. 
With Fire. . 6'. 

M««I>i Ifatroat VS I4i4i . for tk« TUli» M VUm r«rt< 



Tlolitt. 



• ♦ 







THE CITIZEN; 



OR 



DUBLIN MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 



No. XVII, 



MARCH, 1841. 



Vot. III. 



NATIONAL RECKONINGS. 



We h^ve seen with deep regret, by the news- 
paper reports of recent proceedings in par- 
liament, that in answer to a question put by 
Mr. W. S. O'Brien, the Secretary for Ire- 
land declared the goyemment to have no 
intention, of asking permission for us to make 
public railways with our own money. 

Should this plain recital of a simple fact 
fall into the hands of any, who from ignorance 
of our condition may be disposed to regard 
such a statement as incredible,r-as confin- 
ing an imputation of tyranny beyond historic 
peralM, — of pbilo-barbarism beyond the ca- 
pacity of the 19th century to give credence 
to, — iwe only beg of them to keep their tem- 
per cooly caad suspend their judgment while 
we-^not afgtie, for there is nothing to artf ue 
upon in t^ matter^ but — ^repeat what nas 
been in this journal, and in the daily press, 
reitefated over and over again. The case .is 
adirect and palpable one of nati<mal desire fot 
self-improvement on the one side, and of na- 
tional determination to prevent that improve- 
ment on the other. It is a case unclouded 
by party error or party feelmg of any kind. 
Men- of aQ creeds and ranks and opinions in 
Ireland, cordially and publicly, not on one 
occasion but repeatedly, have united to de- 
mand leave to create improved facilities of 
internal intercourse and trade; and men of all 
sorts aad d^prees and facitions in Gu Britain, 
have tmblu^ingly opposed by stupid selfidb 

VOL. XII. KO. XVII. 



force the legislative concession of that miser- 
ably humble demand. "May we improve 
our coufitrvy — ^good masters ?'* — ^" You shall 
not,'' cry Sir Robert Peel and Sir Edward 
Bulwer. '< We will do it at our own expense, 
kind gentlemen ;" — " No matter," mumble 
Inglis and Aglionby." " We offer to mort- 
gage our county taxes, to pay the loan 
which it will be necessary to raise on the 
joint credit of the United Kingdoms, and as 
the loan required would be^onlv two millions 
and a half, and our proffered county rates 
are one million and a quarter per annum, we 
are thus tendering you, we conceive, <o^ra^/y 
good security :"-^" We don't care, and we 
won t hear any tibing about your taxes ; we 
will take no security; it may be tolerably 
good, for auffht we know to the contrary; but 
the notion (v m<mey being raised for mere 
Irish improvement on the joint credit, is 
quite intolerable ; we have something else to 
do with our money; wemusthave cash tobul* 
ly China, — cash to hold down ladii^/— €a;9b 
to get into Aden, and keep possession thire, 
— cash to bribe Syria to revolt, and to en- 
courage Texian pirates in revoltkig, negro- 
stealing, ^ave-eulturing of cotton, and the 
promotion of other great interests of civili- 
sation ^-^eash to sustain a coining war with 
France, and to erieate new offices and pen- 
sioiis and commiasionersbips at bome;'^-ca8h 
to beautify London, inevery imaginable way,'* 



140 



NATIONAL RBCKONINCMI. 



exclaim Mr. Radical Wakley, and Colonel 
Conservative Sibthoipe, — Manchester Phil- 
lips, and Yorkshire Buncombe, — Plumptre 
of Kent, and Williams of Coventry, — Sir J. 
Duke, and Sir £. Knatchbull, — Caledonian 
M^Taggart, English Goulbum, Jewish Dis- 
raeli, and Mr. Holmes all the way from 
Berwick-upon-Tweed. Is it possible to look 
at the division list, that thus arrays men of 
so utterly discordant sentiments on every 
other subject, and to disbelieve that some- 
thing more than casual impressions or un- 
reasoning folly bands them together, and 
marshals them against our neglected and 
defenceless land ? The riddle is too easily 
read. In the united parliament. Whig and 
Tory are less powertul and distinguishing 
party signals, than English ascendimcy and 
Irish rights. Time immemorial there has 
been in St. Stephen's Chapel a Bull party, 
comprising three-fourths of the entire house, 
no matter how elected or composed. Two 
centuries ago, that party, rallied by the magic 
call of English monopoly, forsook the ordi- 
nary standards of Treasury and Opposition, 
and hurled the memorable act for annihilate 
ing the Irish cattle trade, against our country. 
Every man of talent, or who is now remem- 
bered for any thing, resisted that atrocious 
act ; but they resisted in vain. Again, in 
1698, a similar outburst of national* hatred 
took place, when the Lords and Commons 
were cheered as they ostentatiously demand- 
ed from the throne, the absolute suppression 
of our Woollen manufacture. Again, in 
1719, we have the same unquenchable jea- 
lousy of Irish freedom solemnly declaring, 
what at a subsequent period their successors 
voted to be a usurpation and a lie, that the 
appellate jurisdiction firom the Irish courts 
lay constitutionally to an exclusively Eng- 
lish court of peers. In 1773 we have the 
resolution of the Irish parliament in favour 
of an absentee tax, approved of by the most 
popular minister of England, Lord North, 
and sanctioned by his great opponent. Lord 
Chatham ; yet we find both the minister 
and the orator abandoned by their most 
fidthful adherents, — the tocsin of British as- 
cendancy sounded, — and the national claim 
of Ireland scouted by overwhelming power. 
I tis needless to recapitulate how Free Trade 
and Independence were achieved, and how 
they were subsequently forfeited. They were 
lost, as they were won, by force ; an Irish 
army surrounded the Parliament House in 
1782; English bayonets surrounded it in 
1800. How was Catholic Emancipation 
carried ? By the moral power of physical 
force. The same arguments that were dis- 



regarded year after year, when addressed by 
select and highly respectable assemblies of the 
noble and wealthy Catholics of Dublin and 
London, to the British public and govern- 
ment, wTought sudden and universal convic- 
tion, when they came, as the voice of the 
Simultaneous meetings. In a word* — the 
Bull party never did and never will concede 
any thing to Ireland, voluntarily. Nothing 
but the indomitable persistency in the de- 
mand of our rights, and the calm steadfast 
unanimity of men resolved to obtain, what 
they feel can only be withheld from them in 
fraud, will quell the arrogant tone^ or divide 
the councils of injustice and oppression. It 
will be our own fault henceforth, if we sit 
down contented with the refusal of any thing 
we demand. Time was, in the days of the 
Charleses and Georges, when the insolence 
of ascendancy was uncurbed, because of our 
ignorance and our weakness. But that time 
is gone, and our domineering neighbours 
know it. They will swagger on as of yore, 
no doubt, up to a certain point, — ^as they did 
on the Catholic question, the Tithe question, 
and the Corporation question ; but we com- 
pelled them to give up wholly on the first of 
these, and partially on the others : and with 
the blessing of Grod, we will yet compel them 
to do us justice on the Railway question, and 
on every other that we make up oar minds 
steadily to enforce. 

It should never be forgotten, however, that 
the first step in every such process of moral 
compulsion, is to make out a clear and im- 
answerable case of international right and 
equity. There is and there has ever been in 
England, a small but important party, or 
rather sprinkling of independent minded men, 
who loath the vulgar, ruthless love of tyran- 
ny, that animates the Bull faction. Such a 
man was Temple ; such a man was Chester- 
field; 'such a man was Chatham, Adam 
Smith, Arthur Young, Charles Fox,Romilly ; 
such in our own days are Lords John Rus- 
sell, Normanby, and Ebrington. Round 
men of this stamp, good hearted men like 
Mr. Cholmondeley, the Bishop of Norwich, 
Dr. Lushington, Mr. Wallace, Mr. Lister, 
and many more whose names are less fami- 
liar, can usefully rally, and adding their 
weight to the Irish party, make them strong, 
even unto victory. 

These men are ready and willing to be 
convinced ; and we are inexcusable if we take 
not every pains to satisfy their judgments, 
and to win their co-operation. If we sufier 
ingenious calumny or misrepresentation to 
go uncontradicted, how can we complain that 
they stand by, or abet our enemies ? Let us 



NATIONAL RECKONINGS. 



141 



keep this, — for it is a vital element for our 
future policy, — always in mind. 

It is now some months ago, since, as our 
readers may recollect, we directed attention 
to a certain document in the shape of a par- 
liamentary return, moved for by one of our 
imported English members* We really de- 
serve to be injured and insulted as we have 
been by these worthies. What business 
have they in an Irish borough P Mr. Hume 
abuses Irish manufactures, and Mr. Ellis 
lends himself — we have no doubt through 
sbeer dint of ignorance as to what he was 
doing — to obtain the sanction of parliament 
to a «ot disarU account of money lent to Ire- 
land for public works, which by inference 
conveys the most mischievous and wanton 
misrepresentations of fact, that were ever per- 
petrated, even against Ireland. 

The document in question was moved for 
on the 13th of March, 1839, and purports 
to be an account of " all monies, from what- 
ever sources and under whatever descrip- 
tions voted or applied, by way of grant or 
loan, in aid of public works in Ireland since 
the Union." This apparently fair and rea- 
sonsd>le information was asked for, during 
the discussion that arose in parliament and 
in the press, upon the introduction of Lord 
Morpeth's — we believe we ought to say of 
Mr. Drummond*s — proposal of a loan of 
£2,500,000, for the purpose of making three 
great leading lines of railway in Ireland. 
How that proposal was defeated in the House 
of Commons we have already seen ; but it is 
requisite to expose the working of the anti- 
Irish spirit, in that far mightier and subtler 
power — the press. In an educated country, 
whatever be the forms of its sovemment, 
or the technical names of its institutions* the 
real ruling estate is neither the kingly nor 
the pailtamentary, but that wherein the re- 
presentatives of opinion are joumals,— daily, 
weekly, monthly, and quarterly, as the case 
may be. These give the nearest and truest 
utterance to public sentiment and public 
feeling. John Mill, one of the few men in 
England who are unabsorbed by the chaffer- 
ing bustle of the hour, has said, that news- 
papers are becoming the real political unions; 
and this, no doubt, will be the case twenty 
years hence. We diink, however, that with 
one or two illustrious (or infamous) excep- 
tions, this state of things is not yet come. 
Newspapers were some short time ago like 
the members of an unreformed parliament, 
without constituencies. Like their less po- 
tent brethren of the Third estate, they now 
begin to affect responsibili^ ; but like the 
latter, this responsiDility is more in form than 



in substance, more in sound than in fact. 
Cliques are now the English boroughmongcrs 
and journal owners ; and that the dynasty of 
clique is not the rule of the people, but for 
its own wayward or corrupt purposes, is con- 
tinually thwarting and endeavouring to mis- 
lead the people, requires, we fear, few words 
of demonstration. 

A signal instance of this is furnished by 
the petulant and inconsistent tone of the 
London Spectator. Written at all times with 
great ability and force, it was once the rival 
of the Examiner, in assailing oppression and 
promoting the aidvance of reform. About 
the same unfortimate period, that the latter 
took up the domestic office of sweeper and 
cleaner after the Whigs, to the sad soiling of 
its own apron, and total abandonment of the 
manlier employments in which it had be- 
come originally known, its competitor, re- 
solving not to be outdone, voltmteered as a 
non-commissioned evil-doer imder the Tory 
flag ; and during the last five peevish years 
has, with all its weekly might, been fifiing 
and drumming its ancient foes into power. 

Among a)l the points of contact and co- 
hesion between the curdled Radicalism, and 
the unchanged and unchangeable Toryism of 
England, none is so palpable and effective 
as their common fealty to Bull principles. 
Ireland they hate with a hatred inextinguish- 
able. The toxy pretence is religion ; the 
radical pretence is economy. When a fran- 
chise is to be conceded, the one shriek popery, 
and the other cry out assimili^tion. When 
a wrong is to be done, the bigots are eager, 
and the utilitarians cold. Small thanks owe 
we to either, for the possession of aught that 
we are still unrobbed of; small hopes of se- 
curity in our lives or properties can we che- 
rish, if the hypocrites win power, — if possi- 
ble, still less from the infidels. Church 
extension and political economy are equally 
treacherous and insincere pretences; the heart 
and soul object of the two fierce and selfish 
factions that use them being, the centralizing 
of all authority and patronage and power in 
Whitehall-place, and their own sale house- 
ment there. What Toryism would be, if 
installed in that high place of empire, we all 
of us pretty well know. What English Ra- 
dicalism would be there — our murdered fa- 
thers, could they rise firom the grave of now 
well nigh two hundred years, might tell us; 
for they " met the fate of the Amalekites 
from the hand of the chosen race, and their 
spoil was carried away, and their place made 
desolate,*' as their butchers of Drogheda and 
Cashel have triumphantly recorded. Are 
the principles of imperial radicalism changed 

l2 



142 



NATIOXAL IIECK0NING8* 



since then P Somewhat, doubtless : the Pu- 
ritans robbed in the name of the Lord ; the 
Economists rob in the name of Bicardo : the 
men of 1649 read the bible ; the men of 1841 
read Bentham : the former had one virtue, 
that of being in earnest ;— when the latter 
argue for Malthusian morality and theharm- 
lessness of absenteeism's it not harsh to 
believe them so ? 

Ab uno exemplo disce omnes. When 
ministers asked in 1839, for leave to issue 
Exchequer bills to the extent of £2^00,000, 
in order to spend that sum upon Railways in 
Ireland, they grounded the application upon 
two principal ^cts : — 1st, that unless such a 
loan were given, Ireland must lose the ad- 
vantage of l^ese improved facilities of transit, 
not having the means otherwise of attempt- 
ing their construction;^ and 2nd, that the 
same security, which in a hundred previous 
instances had been found unfailing, for the 
repayment of the money prc^posed to be l^>t, 
would again be given : and this security, as 
we have already observed, was a local re- 
venue^ two years' payment of which would 
expunge the debt. The moment the propo- 
sition was made, — *' Whig robb^," roared 
the Times ; " England is going to be swin- 
dled," sobbed the Her aid; " a popish plot," 
was discerned by the Standard ; " an un- 
necessary abandonment of the great funda- 
mental principles, upon an adherence to 
which, so for as the circumstances of each 
particular case will admit, the permanent 
prosperity and improvement of a great com- 
mercial country must mainly rest,"— circum- 
locuted the Tamworth trumpeter. Lest of 
all comes the perverse Spectator, with its 
little fife and drum, attempting to mimic the 
burlier sounds of the band that went before, 
and failing that, essaying a small mischiev- 
ous chirrup of its own. Well understanding 
the addiction of its readers to anything that 
looks like statistical facts, the Spectator pub- 
lished a series of articles, purporting to give 
detailed evidence of how and when poor in- 
nocent John Bull had been swindled out of 
vast sums, by his overreaching partner, 
Patrick. A show of figui'es, to accomplish 
this praiseworthy task of exposure and con- 
viction, being indispensable, the self-dubbed 
national accuser was resolved to go to the 
£)untain head of all modem political know- 
ledge, the Library of random Returns, or- 
dered to be made by the omniscient House of 
Commons. In this we grant our prosecutor 
showed his ordinary keenness of discrimina- 
tion. Poison, whether it be meant to work 
in the belly or the brain — the death of an in- 
dividual, or the detriment of a natioii'*-is 
somehow or other unpopular in name. And 



falsehood being one of the deadliest poisons 
known, it is generally vended and labelled, 
" Best elixir of the purest facts carefully pre- 
pared." Even that is not always enough. The 
character of the establishment whereout the 
potion comes, is often curiously questioned ; 
and hence the laudable anxiety of all expe- 
rienced dose-givers, to be able to show a 
label from the head repertory and grand ma- 
nufieictory of focts» at whose txeshold all 
manner of raw truth and falsehood are daily 
laid, and within whose walls they are toge- 
ther so mgeniously disguised, and with so 
mneh subtlety commingled, that it fre- 
quently becomes a labour of no litde time 
and skill, to analyze and sever them into 
their original distinctness. 

Whe^er the age of miracles be passed or 
no, some have doubted ; but it is tolerably 
clear that the age of oracles is only com- 
mencing. With a Blue book for a vaticinat- 
ing stool, and parliamentaiy evidence to 
supply riddle talk, any man may, with a little 
practice, not only prophecy any thing he 
takes into his head, but absolutdy make 
people beHeve any thing to have happened, 
that it suits his humour or int^!«st to inv^t 
And herein do the modem er statistic ora- 
cles far surpass their heathen predeeessors. 
They could only venture to foretell, taking 
their chance for what might turn up to eke 
out a meaning. But our statistic Dodona 
can obliterate all the inconvenient evidence 
of our senses, to say nothing of the testi- 
mony of history, whereof at will it can take 
no account ; and demonstrate, according to 
the strictest forms of parliament, that what 
never happened at all, did positively, and 
imdoubtedly, and demonstrahiy take place. 
Ah I they may talk as they will of the good 
old times, but there never, never was an age 
like this. 

There sits for the Irish borough of Newry, 
in the present parliament^ a young English 
gentleman of the name of Ellis. And there 
— does not eii perhaps, but at all ev^its 
there fidgets up and down, about and across 
the floor of the House of Lords, a certain 
raucb^given-to-intermeddling personage, for 
his sins entitled " Brougham and Vaux.*' 
These two senators, either by concert, or 
through a singular coincidence, thought fit, 
early in the session of 1839, to call for a 
certain return regarding the sums expended 
upon public works in Ireland smce the 
Union. What specific mischief his lordship 
hoped to accomplish by his statistic move- 
ment, may never, perhaps, be known^ He 
had heard of something useful being pro- 
jected by his old friends the Whigs, and 
thought it a good opportunity of lowing 



NATlOKAt MCXOOTKGS. 



148 



his adaWQr and bi^soaied indepttidence> by 
doing sometlaing eaknlated to throw fklse 
light on tbe measure. We are not sure that his 
retnm was ever presented or printed ; and in 
all human probability his shuttlecock-ship 
forgets every thing about the matter. 

Fortunately, howerer, the return moved 
for in the Commons' House by Mr. Ellis, 
was in due time both produced and printed. 
Though we diflfer widely from that gentleman 
in opinions, we shall not do him the injustice 
of supposing that he understood precisely 
what he was doing, when he adced for the 
return in question. His want of acquaint- 
ance with public accounts may be a loss to 
himsdf, and an injury to the public, but it 
implies nothing of which an honourable man 
need be ashamed. In total nntronsciousness 
of the injustice he was thus lending himself 
to commit, Mr. Ellis was induced to move 
for " a Return of ail monies, from whatever 
sources, and under whateverdescriptions, voted 
or applied by way of grant or loan, in aid of 
public works in Ireland since Ae Union." 
Now, by the rules and customs of the House 
of Commons, any thing not strictly and lite- 
rally ordered to be given in a particular 
return, is inadmissible. Mr. Ellis moved 
only for half the account between Ireland 
and the imperial treasury, and therefore he 

Sot only the half of it. Had he moved for 
le other half, he wotdd hove got that also ; 
but that he did not do. The account in 
question consists of several millions of 
money ; and in this account, if properly 
stated, there would be made to appear, what 
there must be, and there is, a credit side and 
a debit side. The debit side was moved for^ 
and the credit side was not ; and thus the 
balance sheet is ordered to be printed a^unst 
Ireland, by the unwitting House of Com* 
mons, as if there were, in point of fact, no 
credits in the said aceowit at all. We axe 
debited with no less a sum than £8,828,141 ; 
and the whole of the credits being left out, 
ignorant English members are thus led to 
the utterly deceptive inference, that we are 
defaulters to the entire amount so stated ! 
In charity we must repeat our belief, that 
Mr. Ellis was unaware of the delusion he 
was thus rendering faimsdf the means of 
creating ; but 'tis truly a pity when members 
move for papers the v don't understand. Had 
Mr. Ellis possessed the ordinary acquaint- 
ance with public county business in Ireland, 
which evety ooimtry gentieman on this side 
of the channel has, he could not have fallen 
into the stupid blunder he did, and suffered 
himself, by designing persons, to be used so 
completely as a catspaw. Or if we can ima- 
gine an IrUh member being bamboozled to 



such an extent, we saqMct he would at least 
have known, ^en he had burnt his fingers, 
whether the chesnuts were rotten or no. 
Not so, apparently, the member for Newry. 
It is now upwards of a year and a-half since 
the oncHsided reckoning that bears his name 
was presented to pwliament. It is to be 
presumed that he read the same ailer it was 
printed. But it is certain, at least, that the 
Spectator read and published every item 
thereof, befire it was in possession of the 
members of the House of Commons. To 
what intellectual faculty of abstraction, or 
arriving at conclusions from data given a 
priori, we are wholly unable to say. 

Be this as it may, the ridiculous, but not 
on that account less mischievous tale of Ire- 
land being a defaulter, on foot of money 
lent her since the Union, to the tune of 
£8,828,141, has gone forth, upon the high* 
est statistical authority in the ]:efdm,unGontza- 
dicted and ungainsayed; and the govern- 
ment, staggering from such a blow in the 
face, have never ventured to whisper a re- 
newal of the only proposition, by which it is 
possible to accomplish the construction of 
great lines of Railway in Ireland. 

But what could Grovemment have done P 
How could they ask an English member to 
vote more money, after its being shown in 
black and white, thc^t on similar pretences 
the joint exchequer had lost in recent years 
such an enonnous sum ? 

Enormous indeed ; but did it never occur 
to any of the gentry, whom we pay enor- 
mous salaries to per annum, to ask the sim- 
ple, and one would have thought, the ob- 
vious question — is the return true ? Unbe- 
lievable as it may appear, the fact neverthe- 
less is certaiui that not one of the said gentry 
did ever take the trouble of asking the said 
questioui as we ourselves happen unequivo- 
cally to know. We further know, that the 
Government were apprized at the time, when 
this sham account appeared, that it could be 
refuted most triumphantly. They were dis- 
tinctly told diat the refutation could be com-^ 
pleted from the same public sources of 
information, whence the charges had been 
drawn. They were urged and pressed to 
have this act of common justice to the 
country done ; yet from that day to this, 
they have never condescended to trouble 
their heads on the matter. They have suf- 
fered an unreal, an unfair, an unquestionable 
accusation of fraud and insolveiMy to lie un- 
contradicted for more than a whole year, 
agsunst the resources, the hopes', and the 
character of the country; and they have 
done so with the elements of the contradict 
tion in their hands ! 



144 



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 



Let US, however, be just. The late excel- 
lent and worthy Under-Secretary for Ire- 
land, Mr. Drummond, was made aware of 
the real state of the case shortly before his 
death ; and with the energy that was so cha- 
racteristic of all his thoughts and actious—^ 
(would that he had bequeathed it to some of 
his sunriving inendsl) — asked at once to 
know practically how the preparation of a 
counter^retum could be set about Themode, 
which was simple enough, was intimated; 
and ere there was time to cany it into effect, 
Mr. Drummond was called away. We shall 
never look upon his like again. His enthu- 
siasm in pursuit of truth, and unweaiying 
zeal therem, died with him. But this is no 
question of personal character ; it is, or ought 
to be, a plain matter of public duty ; and 
although too much precious and irrecovera- 
ble time has been suiSered to roll by, we 
hope, and we have a right to expect, that 
among the host of placemen and expectants 
that every government has at command, two 
or three will be set to the useful work of pro- 
ducing a complete and satisfactoiy discharge 
in account, of the huge sum we have been 
thus dis'CTediXed with. 

As specimens of the facility with which, 
by a reference to the public accounts, vast 
items of this pretended debt to England 
might be struck off, we subjoui the following: 

Gaols ;e486,995 

Hospitals 435,167 

Court Houses 80,4(4 

Roads 683,363 

Bridges 91,810 

£1,977,749 



Now here is a sum very nearly amount- 
ing to TWO MILLIONS Sterling, which, upon 
the face of the account itself, every body in 
Ireland knows cannot be due. It is, and 
every part thereof is, and always was, direct- 
ly charged upon the grand jury cess, and 
payable thereout by regular instalments, with 
legal interest thereon. The county and 
city grand juries are required, nay, they are 
not allowed a discretion by the acts of parlia- 
ment which authorize the Board of Works 
to advance them respectively such sums as 
they require, to present these instalments 
for the pa3rment thereof. They are bound 
by law and by their oaths to present all such 
sums, no matter what the circumstances of 
their county or city at the time may be. 
The judge of assize, or of the commission 
by whose signature their presentments are 
fiaUd^ is left no option or discretion in re- 
gard of them ; and all these high and learn- 
ed functionaries, and all the grand juries in 
Ireland must have entered into the national 
conspiracy to de&aud, and must have sought 
the attainment of their crime through forty 
years of wilful and corrupt perjury, before 
these TWO millions of Bull money could 
have run in arrear, or justly become charge- 
able as a deficiency against our nation I 

Partial deficiencies there may have arisen 
in other items ; but let us have at least a 
fair national reckoning, ere the interests and 
the honour of the country are again impugned. 
This wretched thing is no account; will no 
Irish member move for one, and drag the 
truth to light P 



T*******"^**** *- - — — *****■** *-*''*'r*ir*r* fV^/viAA- i ^njTjTjnruT.nrvvv vxjvo ^^A.nj' 



LINES FOR MUSIC,» 

ON HBAHING, AFTER MANY TEARS, AN AIR FAMILIAR TO CHILDHOOD. 



I. 

Oh I wake that sigh of aong and lorrow'- 

Retouch that chord, tho* sad It be ; 

For memlry's charm atill will borrow— 

Yes, even in tears,— a light for me. 

As o*er this heart, when last her pinion 

Fond music swept, how sweet the strain; 

While fsnc7 thro* her bright dominion 

Long sought the lajr, but sought in yain. 

How blest, untraced through winged jrears. 

To catch that fleeting strain at last. 

Flajr on— play on— to-night our tears 

In channing Moaic— in mern'ry's Music wakes the past I 



II. 

How many things— the bright, the fleeting. 
Fond mem*ry*s mirror shews again ; 
Long buried friendships warmly greeting. 
Come smiling badt to btees the strain; 
Like the sweet rose, its flragrance lending. 
When even its hues no longer Uoom ; 
'Mid sorrow*s blights, thus song asecnding» 
ShaU memory bless with its perfume. 
How blest, untraced, throogh winged yean. 
To catch that fleeting strain at last. 
Play on— play on— to-night our tears 
In charming Music— in mem'ry*8 MoMe wakes tiie past 1 

J. F. 



* This song, adapted to a beaatifol French air, and arranged by Mr. Haverty, will be published by 
Mr. Novello, of London, early in the present month. 



-^.j 



STANZAS. BEBENADE. 145 



STANZAS. 
(with an enclosubb.) 



FROM TBX ITALIAN. 



With the TOW you so lightly have brolceo. 
The faith wUch misfortune could free, 

Resume too this well worn token — 
'Tis worse than nnyalued by me. 

'Tis tUne, and no longer decelTes me; 

My heart from thy chain stands exempt; 
And the feeling that lingers— >it grieves me 

For thee 'tis indulged--is contempt 

Yet I blame thee not, lady, for breaking 
The TOW you so long murmured o'er ; 

'Twas the dream of thy youth, which, when waking, 
Was felt or remembered no more. 

Then the lore newly oifered, you noted. 

In caskets of Gold lay enshrined. 
And oh I where is the ftdth so devoted. 

Such ofRcrings would fidl to unbind? 

Away ! — *tis the rain and the idle 

That sigh for a fond heart's repose. 
And the weak that are true— fA<m could'st bridle 

Unworldly emotions like those. 

In a strange land disease overtook me—* 
It wrenched not thy image from me; 

In mine own I was told you forsook me, 
Tet fearlessly trusted in thee. 

Thee — thee — mid' misfortune and sorrow 

If anguish a moment might flee. 
Or Despair from a distant Hope borrow 

A cold ray of comfort, 'twas Thxs. 

Thou hast fled with the cold and false hearted. 

Go, revel in splendour so bought. 
But forget that we met, loved, or parted. 

I ask but — my name be forgot 

Let the chain thou hast chosen dissever 
All thought — ^feeling — friendship from me; 

And for mine I can grieve but that ever 
They rested a moment on thee. 



S£ RENADE. 



Slumber not, slumber not, sweetest, but hearken I 
'Tis Love brings it's offering thus humbly to thee ; 
Daylight is done, but no shadow can darken 
Those eyes where soft sunbeams are watching for me. 

Thy lattice is^gh, love — ^the wave below breaking ; 
But what are the perils which love will not dare ? 
Thy guardians are sleepless, yet vain is their waking. 
If thou breathe a sigh or a wish for me there. 



146 



FIRB-0IDB RAMBUN«0. 



FIRE-SIDE RAMBLINGS. 



FABT II. 



THB TAKING OF SNUFF ORIGINALLY A 

BLACK ART. 

Vbrilt, it is an odd system and a laughable 
— that taking of snufT. Who first invented 
it ? At the bottom of whatever cogitation 
this question cost me, I think I haver found, 
if not a certainty, at all events a probability, 
that to accident the discorenr must be 
attributed, as in the history of the medi- 
cinal bark. 

What is more easy than to imagine^ first, 
a set of Indians groiq^ round one of their 
fires, exulting in the loud yells of their war 
song, and in the grotesque performances of 
their war dance? Seconmy, what more 
easy than to imagine some leaves of the to- 
bacco-plant finding their way to the fire- 
place with the other materials of fuel ? 
Thirdly, what more easy than to imagine 
some of these leaves getting but a partial 
roasting — that kind of cracked crisping ne- 
cessary to make them pulverescent ? 
Fourthly, how easy to imagine, then^ a 
breeze springing up, bearing the li^fkier 
particles of this primeral "high-toast,'' nose- 
ward among the dancers— dimising such in- 
fluence, that tlie choral yells of triumph are 
checked in their throats, and degenerate uito 
the less unnatural but more ccmvulsive whiz 
of their sneezes ? Fancy, then, an umnual 
sensation coming over them, opiate-like and 
pleasurable, but, because it is unusual and 
its cause not understood, a little alarming. 
They would deem this overpowering odour 
to betoken the approach of some offended 
deity — ^ihey wax brown — ( their /MiZ0)—-tbe 
war song is hushed — the war dance ceaseth 
— they squat upon the earth. At length, a 
committee of the whole forest (their 
" House '"^ sitteth upon the occasion, and 
the chief addresseth the assembly. Elo- 
quently does he advise them of some deity 
offended ; eloquently does he recommend to 
them what measures of appeasement must 
be observed; what presents offered; what 
victims immolated — ^when lo I — ^the speaker 
([squatted, as he is, to leeward of the fire, and 
in rather close propinquitude thereto) finds 
his face, on the sudden, covered with dust, 
feels a kind of spasm in his utterance, shuts, 
with an involuntary compression, his eyes, 
corrugates his no9e, opens bis mouthy and 



experiences again what all had believed to be 
the ** odour" of the coming " sanctity." The 
sneezing over, the chief (for he happeneth 
to be the head sage of their ethical, as he is 
the head warrior of their bellicose councils,) 
continues his speech ; but in the fullness of 
his wisdom he pursueth the true scent at 
last, for he had observed whence the dust 
arose, and what it was that the " ruffian 
blast" had blown into his face. He now 
explaineth the cause of the sternutatory cho- 
rus, and of its immediately consecutive in- 
fluenee-*and, himself beginning, obligeth 
each of his subordinates to take a pinch of 
the half-burnt tobacco-dust, and apply it to 
his nostrils, to ascertain if a similar effect 
can obtain. Well a similar effect doe$ ob- 
tain, and the chief thereupon, to the infinite 
satisfactioa of his auditory, vrinds up his 
I oration by telling them that the displeasure 
' of their aeity would shew itself in the inflic- 
tion of some bodily suffering, rather than in 
such pleasing convulsion, such healthful 
concussion, as that they had just undergone, 
togpetfaer with the co-mstantaneous change 
that had ^^ught upon them such (he was 
the very first to thuik so) " agreeable titil- 
lation of their olfactory nerves,'* such dul- 
cet feeling of sleepy stupefaction. Twas 
impossible that an offended deity could wake 
up an aroma like this. " No, offended dei- 
ties will always have an offensive incense in 
their (invisible though they be) advances, 
as too well some of you know, if you recol- 
lect the Mai-sh of Muddy-flat, where Death 
sacrificed so many of our brave compeers." 
In short, n^n. con. it was resolved that they 
were all delighted at the accident, and that 
each should keep about his person what box 
his artistic ingenuity could fashion, (theirs 
were the first snuff-boxes,) in which he was 
to have and to hold certain of the half-burnt 
dust of the tobacco-leaf, to excite, when he 
pleased, the sternutatory convulsion and the 
'* agreeable titillation.** By habit, however, 
the former effect was not so uniform, while, 
on the contrary, habit appeared to strengthen 
the latter. 

^yhat, I say, more easy than to imagine 
all this ? Nay, much more than this, — that 
some of the Spanish discoverers of America 

observed these Indians preparing and using 



nitSHnOB lUHBUNOi. 



147 



this powder ; that^ thereupon, they believed 
it, at first sight, to be some ** elixir Titee/' 
full of magical virtues; that, in due time 
tiiey learned, and exercised, and delighted 
in this their Black art ; that, soon were they 
'* up to snuff" with them — ^nay, " a pinch or 
two above them," being able (well suppose) 
to grind the weed in mills winch they pre- 
viously used for other puiposes ; and, lastly, 
that when they sent over fas they really did) 
to Spain and to Portugal supplies of this 
singular weed, they also sent an account of 
the manufacture and use of the powder. 
By the Aborigines this weed was called 
"petun" — alias, named by Hernandez de 
Toledo, " Tabaco"— -alias, by the French, 
*^ Nicotiana," on their being first acquainted 
with it through a certain John Nicot, whose 
several merits are doubtless set forth by their 
proper biographers. Great indeed must 
they have been, for they have awakened an 
unparallelled revolution in European tastes 
and smelU — a revolution which, year after 
year, hath continued to be further revolu- 
tionised down to this very day. Attributing 
what verisimilitude von please, kind reader, 
to this oiur origin ot snuff, be it for you now 
to observe what happened in its progress. 
What at first was the genuine pulverized ''pe- 
tnn," was afterwards adulterated with other in- 
gredients, as errhines ^but, hold — I have 

too great a solicitude for the unitiated to enu- 
merate the errhines, narcotics, perfumes, &c. 
that are now available with the professors of 
this Black art I should not forgive myself 
if I were thus to give an opportunity of more 
extensive imposition. Enough that the 
schools of this art are but too numerous al- 
ready in our several cities, if we judge from 
the men of colour, coUossal and dinunutive, 
that stand boldly over the shop windows, or, 
more ignobly, are hooked by the back to the 
jambs of the doors. And, by the bye, this 
use of Uack statues giveth a great colouring 
to my conjecture of the art having been a 
Black art ; for, may it not be probable that 
the Spanish manufacturers, for the speedier 
sale of their commodity, imported into their 
shops, as shopmen, some of the Americo- 
Indians, or Negro slaves, — aware that at- 
traction was everything ; and that our mo- 
dems, without knowing it, are commemo- 
rating this custom in " still life,** as best is 
suiting to each one's taste for design. But 
beshrew all doubt and digression. 

Now, it seemeth odd — very odd, that, al- 
though the snuff-takcr hath ocular, or auri- 
cular, or gustator}', or all together, besides the 
direct olfactory testimony touching the con- 
stituents of bis snuff, yet doth he, with a 



dogmatic disregard to, and defiance of, con* 
sequences, present or to come, keep turning 
up his nostrils ! He cannot help it. They 
become, as it were, his twin nurslings; they 
have a perpetual appetency — an insatiable 
eraving tor their confection ; their bias to* 
ward their food is fixed and unalterable — 
their Schneiderian palates cannot tolerate 
mj other. Neither will they bear to be 
"spoon-fed," — the plain finger and thumb 
feeding will alone satisfy them. Differing 
from cdl other nurses, he hath no hope of 
weaning them ef^enfar a day, for they are 
spoiled in their rearing; they are not of the 
unsnufiing, chameleon fionily— 4he total- 
abstinence society of Nose; they will not 
live on mere air — ^tangible, solid, substantial, 
must be theh dietary, and that, too, liberally 
supplied. Three hundred and sixty-five 
pence a year it taketh to support them ere* 
ditably, to say nothing of the heavy bills of 
the laundiy nymphs, for their dailv supply 
of apparel for them in the shape of silk hancU 
kerchiefs. For, though they drivel much^ 
yet are they not insensible to the propriety 
-^'*emimct» naris." And, grey beara An- 
tiquity, did I not bear an Ul-will against 
thee, I might speculate upon thy moss- 
grown nomenclature ; first, taking my stand 
upon the Nares, I might be tempted to prove 
that thou hadst given this surname to the 
nostrils, from some similarity of drivelling 
obsen'able between them and thy Umbrian 
river, Nar, that whilome (and may still, 
" mntato nomine,'* for aught I know) paid 
tribute to the Tiber. Avaunt, old dotard, I 
have not sympathy for thee. 

Reader, dost thou not now recognise in 
the midst of this twin fiunily — these Siamese 
Epiphyses, — ^my awn especial "care?" 
Dost thou not see them solicitous for my 
countenance, and hungering pruriently for 
their accustomed sustentation ? Or, the 
sooner to dissolve this figurative paternity, 
dost thou not see with what a meritorious u- 
berality my left hand offereth the snuff to 
my nostrils, even while I am writing this— 
yet offereth so as with a sense of right- 
moreover, so as not to be eleemosynary, a 
thing to raise a blush — ^but so as to lower 
down to zero all other " voluntary systems** 
whatever, in the scale of the cheer/id 
giving? 

IN PRAISB OF MY WALKING-STICK. 

Reader, art thou, like me, a bachelor? 
And, if so, hath Nature afilicted thee, like 
myself, with an undue length of upper ex- 
tremities, of which you know not how to dis* 
pose when abroad, imless some yoimg lady 



148 



FIRE-SIDE RAMBLINGM* 



or old gentlemati lean on you, or 3'on lean 
upon somebody who may be willing to allow 
the familiarity, as a conjuncture preventive 
against the ^aucherie of movement which 
would inevitably arise, were the disengaged 
misupported arms to sway about ad libitum, 
.against every rule of every fencing and every 
dancing master ? A happy alternative is 
left you, however, if you have not these 
helps to get on; you have one excellent 
and often more satisfactoiy help — ^yoiur 
walking-stick. 

When performing thy ambulatoiy sub- 
urban solo, didst thou deem it, as I hare 
often deemed it, a kind of day -light som- 
nambulism, in which, while the senses were 
awake, all the vibrations — the impulses of 
thy cheerful temperament, were sleeping — 
and slept on, till, first, the dawn of the 
expected companionship broke gray npon 
and seemed to stir a little their sleepiness, 
then shone at length, in the brightness that 
completely awakened them. And 'tis a 
brightness — that which beameth from friendly 
intercourse; and more is it felt, deeper it 
goeth to the soul of such somnambulist, I 
dare surmise, than to that of other man. 
Now, in the absence of the friend you 
lean upon, or of the friend who leaneth upon 
you— -ere the coming — the approach of the 
¥nshed for dawn and the brightness, how 
have yon got on ? How eoulayon get on 
with a mind at ease, if deprived of your alter- 
native— the walking-stick P Under these 
circumstances you hunger after a something 
companionable, the stick becometh a sub- 
stitute for you; you thirst after the gush- 
ings of mirth, 'ds the wand (if you are Irish) 
that striketh and bringeth them out of you ; 
you are cold, 'ds your third leg to help on 
the circulation ; you are lamed, 'tis a crutch 
to you ; you are blind, verily, it is a staff 
to you. I defy you to get on with the sure- 
footedness, — the untroubled tramping of 
straightforwardness, do what you may or 
can, without the aid of your stick. Aye — 
do— -do if you like — ^yes, yes — take off* the 
glove from the left hand and place it in the 
already glored right hand ; coax, if you like, 
your left thumb into the arm-hole of your 
waistcoat, leaving the four fingers without 
to play pianowise upon your breast. Let 
me see you move on now. I put it to you 
— ^your hand is on your heart — I put to you, 
do you feel yourself walking independendy ? 
Of what avail how much or how often thou 
mayest twist and twirl that glove P Of what 
avail the aerial arcs and circles thou art de- 
scribing with it? Of what avail the imagi- 
nary "overtures" thou wouldst play upon 



thy waistcoat, of " Fra Diavolo,'* of " The 
Mountain Sylph," or of " La Sonnambnla P" 
Canst thou yet work up a stout-worthy spi- 
ritr— an unstumbling steadiness ? No ; — 
these performances cannot effect it; the 
co^apera-img stick hath the only influence. 
The arcs and circles, see how much bolder 
— ^uiore elevated — ^more enlarged are these 
which the stick maketh ! " StMimi/eriam 
ndera verttce,** whizzeth the stick in its 
twirlings; and, if the musical imageiy be 
" still so gently o'er you stealing," art thou 
not in the light of Signor Negri, or other 
conductor, beating most excellent time for 
whatever orchestra happeneth to perfonn in 
thy head P 

But it must be a ttickf not a itauT'-rod; 
while of an unpretending, it must not be of 
a shillelah calibre; while " ntnpUx mtmiif- 
UlsJ* I will, nevertheless, allow it eyes widi 
a silver rim to them, and a tassell^ string 
of unambitious colour and well; while suffi- 
ciendy elastic, I must have it smooth, (I 
hate die affectation of a stick which is a /«- 
stis naturw, knarled, tortuous, full of wens 
and warts, and the like unsighdy excres- 
sences,) but not a whalebone contrivance, 
like that I once saw a fool give nine shillings 
for — the most truly effeminate ut^isil (I 
don't call it stick) I ever saw. What, think 
you, was its han^e P An ebony cigar tube ! 
with a litde square speck of silver insertion, 
for the engraver to mark fool upon it, the 
name of die purchaser. Below this handle 
was a litde circular band of silver, to which 
was appended a small ring, to which was 
fastened a very bushy tassel, almost as big 
as that of a bell-pidl ! Think of a huge 
bulky man, in his senses, in the open day, 
in a large city, going into a shop to pur- 
chase this ! Look at him in the crowded 
street endeavouring to walk with it ! See, 
he scarcely toucheth the flags widi it! It 
feeleth light — fiiigile to him as a very barley 
straw ! Nevertheless, mightily is he proud 
of it, and why ? Alas I for the very reason 
of all others that would induce any other 
man to leave it in the Bazaar, viz., because 
he seeth no odier man using the like ; be- 
cause he panteth after novelty ! No, no, a 
stick to be a stick is not to be a curiosity ; 
or, if it be, then let it have place in the mu- 
seum of an Academy of Arts, as a specimen 
of the crooked perverseness, the plastic ca- 
priciousness, the unmeaning eccentricity 
that artistic skill will, in its periodical fits of 
insanity, exhibit, just as it does in another 
walk of art among our Cruikshanks. 1 
would, on the contrar}', have your stick give 
you a certain share of support In the prosy 



I 



FIRE'SIDB BAMBLINOS. 



149 



conversation about the weather and Murphy, 
or temperance and Mathew, or other maw- 
tnmU tnat bringeth you to a itand with some 
garrulous retailer of news, it is of vast ser- 
vice to you. With the handle against your 
right hip, and your right leg athwart the 
left, you can lean satisfactorily upon itr— can 
stand at ease— can conjure up such amount 
of patience as seemeth obsequious, and be 
better able to stomach — to digest this collo- 
quial pettifogging. Moreover, I would have 
it tough. How often have I made it de- 
scriptive, as though it had been a crayon, 
in scraping upon the road some diagram, 
elucidatoiy to my fiiend, of my particular 
method ot handling a question. Nay, was 
it not but yesterday that I exercised my 
geogn^hic recollections of the plan of attack 
upon St. Jean D*Acre,its position, &c. &c., 
with the aid of a Mediterranean (in minia* 
ture^ in the middle of the road, formed by 
the late rains, vdth such miniature heights 
as I found in some rugged stones, and with 
what ships of the line were furnished by 
chips and straws that floated on the pool. 
These fortuitous happinesses in their several 
sort arranged before the eye of my friend^ 

" Against the bulwark of the sight 
Bid lay strong siege and battailous assault,** 

and made him exclaim loudly against the 
'' villainous saltpetre." Agam, with your 
stick, at once crayon and scale of feet, you 
can show how you would run your stairs 
were you to build ; where you would have 
your library and your kitchen, (two impor- 
tant departments in your house) or other 
chamber. In short you can delineate any 
extempore map or drawing you please, for it 
is ever an available " quod est demonstran- 
dum** accompaniment to you, provided al- 
ways that thou art a man of my kidney, 
reader. For my part I can only say 'tis my 
firm resolve to stick to my stick as long as 
my stick stickethrto me. 

A CHAPTER ABOUT CANDLES. 

Tis my wont, my peculiar bent, to notice 
things when I am sJone, which otherwise 
would most certainly escape attention. I 
watch the fly, or the moth, or the spider, or 
that singularly-contrived creature (I am not 
a naturalist — I cauhot give you its genus or 
fipecies) which ordinary people entitle the 
" daddy long log?." Often hare I listoned 
to the tick-tick on the wall or cci]in)|>^ of my 
apartment, and stood on a chair with canrlle 
in hand, to ascertain where " the watch" was 
** going" so regularly (the death watch of 
superaution) ; and had, after a long indus- 



trious, but fruitless search, to resume my 
seat and be content merely to listen to, as I 
could not observe the organized perform- 
ances of this my littie animated chronome- 
ter. Often have I witnessed with fear and 
trembling (such is my nature) the whirlings 
and coquettings of the moth or the " long 
leg" round my candles, previous to the grand 
consummation — the sacrificial suicide — the 
headlong devotion of these fire-worshippers ; 
and often, after their vital spark had fled, 
have I caught up the unbumt fragment of a 
leg or a wing that lay embalmed, as it were^ 
in grease, and submitted it to the micro- 
scope, to speculate upon its structure, and to 
tma^ns all its invisible nerves and vessels — 
aye, and to endow it with a " mm*" »u% ye- 
nsris (philosophers name it " instinct," that 
most unintelligible of words). 

In these inquisitive moods the very can- 
dles themselves have not esci^d me ; for, 
certain people are there who look upon their 
candles as a kind of hieroglyphical obelisks, 
upon which they spend their time, decypher- 
ing the arabesques of wick or tallow, and 
torturing their brains for what oueht to bear 
the easiest en>lanation. I can forgive Jo- 
hanna, notwithstanding her occasional abrupt 
intrusion of some of the household aflUrs 
into the calm atmosphere of my thoughts, 
when she subjoineth some ominous allusion 
to my " iyne9 minore*,'* — my " lueida w- 
dsra/* — the candles. Her countenance, her 
gesture, her manner of expressing herself on 
these occasions, (at candle-light she is wont 
to come into ike pretence,) are all the result 
of a certain inspiration, not occasioned, how- 
ever, by such exhalement as made eloquent 
the Delphic priestess of old, upon her tripod ; 
but by the vapours of a certain distilment, best 
known to herself, which marvellously oileth 
and quickeneth, yet thickeneth her tongue:?^ 
To this, her nightly dehvery of oracles, am 
I indebted for various useful and useless 
knowledge; in particular, for what I know 
of the mystery of candle-craft — the " letter, 
the " windinff-sheet," the " ring," the " thief,' 
the curse of an additional year's celibacy 
upon my head did I extinguish while I 
snufled a candle, and ^imdry other informa- 
tion connected with this candelabra] science. 
In some of my moments of ennui, when 
given to reverie, have I sat down by way of 
a relief — a laying down of my load of fret- 
fulness — a little of resting to take breath, for 
the purpose of cogitating, afler the manner 
of some of our modem scientific enquirers, 
upon some of these superstitious appear- 
ances. 

The '' letter," what is it ? How formed ? 



(> 



•»t 



160 



FIRSHRDB BAlCttilNGS. 



The direads composing the wick are not 
cvBnly spun — a little nodule, you observe, if 
you look closely here and there. Now, when 
one of these nodules is ignited, it stands out 
in relief, and becometh bright as a little star. 
This is Johanna's "letter." But what spirit 
of prophecy dwelleth in this orb, that augnr- 
eth an epistle to one before whom it shineth ? 
Can astronomy (other than celestial) answer 
me this question ? Can Poetiy, prattling of 
its *' stars of hope ?" I hear Superstition 
answering; — verily this is a star of hope. Is 
it not shining from *' the glimmering taper's 
light,'* which light is associated with one of 
Goldsmith's ideas of hope. Ah ! yes, good 
Dame, but why a star of hope promising a 
"letter" rather than any thing else ? Reader, 
art thou enlightened enough to solve this 
diflBiculty ? I am not I The only effect I 
remember a star of the kind had upon me 
was this : once, when it became a fMing 
star, it gave to one of my fingers an unwel- 
come ornament — a vesicatory pearl — a pain- 
ful ''forget me not," which made me cautions 
ever after of subjecting my hand to such si- 
dereal influence. 

The '* winding sheet" — ^how formed P I 
have thought, thus : — On some point of the 
clrcumferent edge of the candle is sometimes 
observed a small concrete molecule of grease. 
This is the aboriginal nucleus of it. Some 
one snuffs the candle t*a^A^ closely; but say 
— ^not too much so. The shortened wick, 
then can take up but a limited supply of the 
molten grease, the surplus remaming fluid 
on the top ; of which fluid the least stir of the 
table throweth out wavelet after wavelet hot 
ujpon the molecule, which from this succes- 
sive increment of weight, as well as heat, 
becomes dislodged, and taketh a gradual 
curvature '*from above dotcntcardSi and from 
tcitkout intDards r* The "ring" is fonned 
in the same way ; but the difference between 
both formations is, that for the former the 
molecule must be oblong, somewhat flat- 
tened ; for the latter, globular, or nearly so. 
Why the one should portend death, ana the 
other marriage, be it for other augurs than 
Johanna and me to tell ; far, far be it from 
us to penetrate (mayhap, impiously) into 
the Poetry, the Polytheism of superstition — 
to uncurtain the mythology of the " good 
people" and the fairies. *Tis mine but to 
follow the example of men of science, 
elaborately and circumspectly to elucidate 
these formations, and no more. And for 
Johanna — 'tis her's to remain a Polytheist all 
the days of her life. 

The '* thief" cometh in this way :— one 
of the ttijreads happens to be shorter than 



the rest« The tippet ^bnraing) eAd of il 
gets disentangled from the main body, and 
hangeth ; at first outwards, and iken gradn* 
ally downwards, oontinumg to bora all the 
while, and making a deep, destructive, 
unsightly " channel to a flood" of grease, 
that layeth naked, on one side, the whole 
length of the wick. This " thief" hath, like 
other thieves, a surreptitious mode oi pro- 
cedure. While you are engaged, or least 
observant, or while you are enjoying your 
vespertinal ns^, it effecteth most of its 
incendiary work : — but, take your eyes 
seasonably from your books, or your papers, 
or awake from your dozing, your engine 
is by you to check the progress of the fire; 
your snuffers — or, if that do not answer, Jo- 
hanna's scissors as a supplementary engine* 
Snip off the incendiary thread at once— ^yoa 
remove all danger; yet is there dread havoc 
in your candle. It seemeth like some tree 
just fissured by lightning-— it is a monnment 
of destruction. After mis it can only per- 
form a lap-sided— ^no longer a uniform sym- 
metrical function ! And now like a frozen 
cataract the grease appeareth adown the 
candlestick, and upon your table cloth ! 
Latterly I have kid myself out for a decided 
vigilance aAer the approach of soeh thieves, 
and I promise you that seldom do I allow 
their encroachments to do nuachief like that 
I once saw happen. 

*' The curse of single blessedness"— well, 
I suppose by extinguishing (accidentally by 
all means) your candle, yoa^ ip$o jicio, 
must be supposed to extinguish your " name" 
of the current year, and must make up youi 
mind to look out lor some other that will 
bum unextinguishably, or peradventure re* 
light the same love again ! — But methinks I 
now hear some fiistidious puppet, of the 
"coterie and literary lady" atmosphere^ 
waxing choleric, and exclaiming :— >'' Psha ! 
this is some vulga' fella'! neva' burned 
wax in his life !" — And how do you know, 
Mr. Impertinence P Can you pronounce 
upon my tastes without an acquaintance 
with me ? About wax candles there is to me 
that sort of sepulchral (that is not the word) 
—that sort of deathlike, hydropic transpa- 
rency — that sickly delicacy whicn unnerveth 
me to contemplate; whUe in the tallows 
there is that dense unempyreal compactness 
— that all-body — ^no anything in them re- 
minding one of sickliness ; besides, there is 
a certain animation in the lambency of their 
flames— -these are indeed fires alive — ^not 
like the staid, inanimate, cold looking^ 
pallid flamelets of your waxen composts. 
Methinks I hear, too, some hard-featured 



—A 



nBMIira AAUBUNOfi. 



151 



performer in Philosopliy exclaim :— -''Pab I 
flow any sensible man could sit him dawn 
to write about candles!" — I answer, Most 
potent, grave^ and reverend signior, 'tis true 
I hare written about candles; but would 
you know the reason ? Here it is— -and take 
it with you — I did not wish that Johanna's 
lights — the oracles of which she is the 
Priestess-— should for ever be '* hid under a 
bushel/* 

ON DREAMING. 

'< Dreaming," saith Beatde, "though 
common, is not uniTeml." Now, if you 
can suppose sleep to happen, without dreams 
of any kmd whatever, where will you place, 
during the state of rest, the sotd ? Will you, 
nay, can you insulate it firom the body ? — 
Can you understand the harmony of the 
functions tending to uniform effects^ — heahh, 
growth, reproduetion — ^in other words, can 
you understand the lifr of the body to be 
independent of soul in ideep P Rather, is it 
not reasonable to suppose an erder of 
dreamings, watchfulnesses, which the self- 
preservative principle always beeps up, 
some of them impressed on the memoiy 
vividly^ others confusedly, and others not at 
all ; ai^ that, in the last case^ it cannot be 
said these were no dreamings, but that none 
could be rememifered? Might we not allow 
that certain states of the brain in sleep shall 
account, as well as the injuries and accidents 
of that riscus in one's ws^g moments, for 
the phenomena of confused recollection or 
total Ibrgetfulness of things ? ^ There is 
no one," saith Richerand, ''who 1ms had 
syncope of more or less continuance, but 
knows that it leaTes no cemeieuenese of what 
passed wldlst it lasted. It is the saone after 
apoplexy, a fit of epilepsy, &c." Yet, 
will it be denied that the self-preservatiTe 
principle was active in these states, although 
the, as it were, material mtrror waspartiaDy 
clouded, and for a time incapable of reflect- 
ing clearly every feature of life P I contend 
that whatever happeneth this mirror, it still 
refiecteth in sleep, as awake, more or less of 
the workings of Uie sou), and continues so 
to do till death totally clouds it, and allows 
it no longer the power of reflecting. I diflfer 
therefore from Beattie, md while I do not 
mean to assert that all men dream equally, 
yet dreams do I give to all men, let them be 
modified in what sort they may. Even thus 
far, it ill behoveth me to venture into the 
troublous waves of dissertation, seeing 
that I have not " heart of controversy" to 
breast them, nor skill like Cssar's to bold 
high my thoogfals, proud of die bnoyaney 



that could give them security. As yet am 
I merely learning to dip — I am afraid to go 
beyond my depth — I must rush out again 
to my " terra fiima." Nay, I feel the 
shivering that whispereth, too long have I 
been dipping. 

In plain speaking, let us rest now upon 
the question which Beattie himself (and 
every one else) admits, that there are those 
who remember their dreams. With thqse 
we have to do in what follows ; for I take 
them to be a kind of Dramatists. The 
dramatist converts his theatre into a mimic 
museum, in which he conjureth up, by a 
peculiar magic, antique specimens of ethics, 
rich in the golden mean, and of costly value; 
specimoQs of the upshot, the lava of revo- 
lutionary Vesurii,'^«petrifactions of tyranny, 
— fi^mginovs concretions of barbarity,— 
the asbestos of true patriotismy and the 
pure» unde&led diamonds of virtue and 
love. But to come down iiom cmr mo- 
taphoric stilts, he brings upon the stage, 
whatever is great and good and grand of 
the Past, and "holds ihe miitor to the 
Present, to show its unsi§^tliness, and to 
suggest what is most conducive toward its 
improvement. The immortalities of past 
actions are personified ; the soul of honour^ 
the soul of valour, find their metempsy- 
chosis, happily illustratated in the "tableawB 
vifeant** of the sti^e, oiu* dramatic repre- 
sentations being but telescopic retrospections, 
re-embodied chivalries, resurrections of 
''foregone conclusions;" while the immor- 
talities of what may he future actions are 
pre-created (and personified too) as ''the 
shadows before of coming eventSb" 

How very nearly alike are the dreamer 
and the dramatist. £ ach ean hold the " world 
as his stage ;" each get up a drama or a 
dream ; each take a part in the one or the 
other, or become merely a spectator. But 
they differ in that the dramatist can com- 
mand, can choose his subject, may or may 
not take a part in his drama, just as he plea- 
ses ; while the dreamer hath no contnnil over 
his dream, though creating it himself, and 
must of inevitable neeeeeify take a part in it, 
or become a spectator. They are quite alike, 
however, in this respect : a dream that is 
told you, and a dramatic piece that is read 
for you, may sometimes 1^ the most ridien- 
lous things imaginable. Nevertheless, they 
are likely to have their advantages, if the 
authors of each take but seasonable hints for 
them. Both can readily account for the 
monstrosities of their creation ; if, for in- 
stance, the dramatist but look to the crude, 
undigestible state of his nightly thou^tsi 



152 



PIRB-0IDB BAMBLINGS. 



and the dreamer to that of his nightly sup- 
pers ; and if the one learn to systematise his 
thoughts, the other his suppers, to suit the 
cerebral digestive function in the one case, 
and the intestinal in the other. Besides these, 
manifold are the advantages of dreaming and 
dramatising, on which, (or the present, I do 
not wish to length^i out my observations, 
hastening as I am to detail a dream I had a 
few nights ago, which occurred in rach wise, 
that metbinks it differed little firom any the 
most palpable dramatic scene 'twas my lot 
ever to have witnessed. 

1 dreamed I attended a meeting of scien- 
tific gentlemen, not as a member of the body, 
i'l am most unscientific) — ^butas a candidate 
or the Stranger's Grallery. The attention of 
the meeting was occupied with " papers," the 
reading of which created erudite skirmishings 
amongst the profound Ptot and confounded 
Cam, relative to each theory that was started. 
Methooght some of these skirmishings took 
so odd a turn, that with what tachygrapby I 
was master of I made the following notes Ul 
my pocket book :— 

After a good deal of " balloon"ing, " me- 
teoric stone" throwing, " water-spont"iiig, 
earth-quaking, star*gazing, mesmerising, 
and locomotion, a robustious gentleman 
stood up to favour us with one of Uie results 
of his botanical researches* Alike of mid- 
dle age and middle height, he had a very 
doughy countenance, kneaded into coarse, 
clumsy features, and flanked on either side 
with an immense (atUumnal'loMn^) shrub- 
bery of whiskers. His eyes of gray, and 
exceedingly small, were sunken deeply under 
the shelving of his brows, as if designed to 
look inwardly upon the growth and repro- 
duction of his theories, as well as outwardly 
upon the growth and reproduction of his 

Slants. His stififhair stood up boldly from 
is forehead, a very grove (in miniature) of 
poplars. In short, his whole head would 
remind you, I know not why, of a something 
connected with the vegetable kingdom ; and 
the moment you looked at it, you would say, 
verily this head is the head of some Horti- 
cultiural Society. Professor Pollen (Pro- 
fessor of what, I could not learn) holding 
the " paper" in his left hand, and pronating 
the right upon the page, (he wore a richly 
wrought signet rmg on his little finger,) 
coughed off such webs as might entangle his 
utterance, and " in mcdias res" was he in a 
moment. 

''Gentlemen," he began» "I have long 
considered the quassation or agitation of 
leaves to be euerUialiy necessary to the due 
growth, health} and vigour of trees ; for by 



this quassation, I take it, these respiratory 
organs are at once better enabled to modi^ 
the sap and to facilitate its circulation. Now, 
as in the Pouulus (a genus of the DisM^ia 
Octandrla of Linnseus) we find the motion 
of the leaves more remarkable than in any- 
other trees, I thought it well to select a 
specimen of that genus for the experiment 
which I shall have the honour of detiultng 
to the society. A sapling of about five or 
six feet high I thus experimented upon. 
" By means of wires I secured each kaf- 
stalk to the bnnchest and so radiated the 
wire over the upper and under surfaces of 
the leaves, that it was impoisibk they could 
stir. In a week I was pleased to find the 
leaves withered, and in another week t^ 
sapling was without a trace of life. Want 
ot motion in the leaves, therefore, it was 
plain" 

" Not quite so plain," uttered a tall, skin- 
ny, consumptive looking gentleman, who 
shot up fix)m his seat like an arrow, '' Not 
quite so plain. I rather conceive the oxydi- 
zed deposition fix)m the frtret lessened the 
vitality of the circulating juices, inasmuch 
as it interfered with the firondal respiration, 

and then" , Here this gendeman was 

inteirupted by a litde wag in large green 
spectacles, who thus finbhed the tali gentle- 
man's sentence — ^"and then tuberculization 
was the consequence, and the tree died of 
consumption." — [Loud and dissonant was 
the caclunnation here, in which 1 confess I 
could not help ioinuig.] 

Professor Pollen, nothing daunted, though 
sorely irritated, said — " Gentlemen mav feel a 
malicious satisfiiction in thwarting the ad- 
vance of science, but, I tell them, their 
efforts are likely to be as vain as those of a 
certain long-eared animal we read of the 
other day, who foolishly supposed he could 
impede the progress of a raU-train by a few 
of nis venomous kicks. (Loud laughter.) 
Had the first gentleman but patience enough 
to listen without interrupting, he would not 
have thrust forward his rtuiy anticipations, 
nor would the second gentleman have fol- 
lowed so triumphantly in his ira^«. (Hear, 
hear,) The wires I used, though iron, were 
properly prepared — were painted with white 
lead, to preclude the possibility of atmos- 
pheric action. Therefore their oxydization 
could not take place. Why then did the 
tree wither?" 

" May I be permitted to observe," said a 

young gentleman with large eyes, and very 

red lips, on whose breast dangled a gold 

rimmed glass, ''although I do not pretend 

I to the best knowledge oi the vegetable world. 



PIRE-SIDE BAMBLINCar. 



153 



that as the ezhalatioa (whatever that is) 
from white lead, is known to be injurious to 
the animal system, through the medium of 
the longs, may not such, analogically speak- 
ing, have proved injurious, in the present 
instance, to the tree, through the medium 
of its leaves ?'* 

Here the little gentleman in the big spec- 
tacles bounced up and said, addressing the 
last speaker, " From your theory, sir, the 
tree would appear to have died of white lead 
cohc — 'colica pictonum,' as we call it. 
{Laud km^^^er.) Indeed had the Profes- 
sor used gold wire, his experiment, jmt^jm, 
would be less questionable — but, "when 
Felly grew romantic, he should paini it" — 
{Renetced laughter.) " Wait, sir," quoth the 
consumptive, " till the professor wins golden 
opinions for his works on botany ; then you 
may find him trying what virtue there is in 
gold wire superior to that of the more vulgar 
metals'* — (continued laughter. J " I would 
merely ask Professor Pollen," said a clerical 
looking old gentleman in shorts and leg- 
gings, " if he followed, in the adjusting of 
his wires, the pendant order of the leaves 
and leaf-stalks ?" 

Professor Pollen — ^"No! not invariably. 
That did not appear to me of the least 
importance in my experiment." "Allow 
me, sir, to differ from you. I do con- 
ceive, with Pope, that art should be " Nature 
still, but nature methodized," and that what- 
ever curvature, accordingly, or pendulous 
habitude nature gave to the leaves of that 
tree, these should not have been altered into 
a position forced, straightened, and on tlie 
stretch. This position, *tis my idea, injured 
the tree by" " Just so, very, very proba- 
ble indeed," said the little gentleman again, 
who appeared not to suffer an opportunity to 
escape for an attack upon the poor professor, 
" from an overstraining of the sap vessels, 
as well as the tracheal apparatus of theleaves, 
I should say that their functions were unper- 
formable. There was indiscriminate extra- 
vasation of sap as well as air; there was a-a- 
a in iact, a kind of a-a-a of froudal emphy- 
sema with engorgement of sap— there was a- 
a-a"— "OhI come, doctor," interrupted 
the old gentleman in the breeches, " there 
was quite enough in all conscience to show 
that the Professor's experiment was unsatis- 
factory.** (Loud laughter.) " One ques- 
tion more I would ask," said the gentleman 
with the red lips, "did Professor Pollen 'cut 
his loves* like Cowley, upon the tree, so that 
li^Jtamn might be said^ like Cowley's, to 
have quite burnt it up, and to have thus wi- 
thered it ?*' Here there was the most voci- 



ferous laughter I ever heard. The consump- 
tive took so great a cachinnatoiy fit, that he 
was throwing up blood in large quantity; and 
coughing frightfully — I awoke ! Doub&ess I 
heard coughing enough, but it was from the 
next room — from Johaona going down her 
guttural gamut — ^her usual nightly pectoril- 
oquy. 

MR. KEARNEY. 

Peace to thy spirit, poor Mr. Kearney I 
Thou that first enteredstmtoourNursery.and 
" taught our young idea how to shoot," art 
amongst the earliest of my childhood's asso- 
ciations, and now art thou present to me 
even in my manhood. Good, pious, inno- 
cent, silver-haired old man, that heldest thy 
{>lace at the fjBonily table in patriarchal seem- 
iness, our acknowledged administrator of 
domestic government, and oracle of ethics-— 
our most zealous and learned of tutors; and, 
(for, any the merest of thy merits I shall not 
detract from thee) the gifted, the generous 
poet laureate of our house. How well — as 
twere yesterday-— do I remember the morn- 
ings, when as soon as Lucy completed our 
toilet, my eldest brother, my sister and my- 
self would sit us on the stairs, hardby the door 
of thy bed-chamber, repealing with what 
clang of lungs our years had given us mas- 
tery of, the tasks which in thy wisdom thou 
wouldst nightly assign for us. These our 
clamorous "prima principia" of erudition, 
although running loudly in spiral echoings 
up the stairs to the highest room in the house, 
ruffling up the slumbering of baby in his cot 
there (his heaven — the heaven of innocence !) 
and down the stairs to the basement stoiy — 
the kitchen — the Plutonia regna, where 
Norry our Proserpina, and John our Pluto, 
held sway, (the last perhaps appropriately 
named, seeing that he was a negro my father 
brought with him from the West Indies, and 
allocated to the realmsbelow.) Nevertheless, 
they were but just loud enough to penetrate 
the dim echoing windings of age-stricken 
ears — thy age* stricken ears, poor Mr. Kear- 
ney ! This hour of our matutinal rehearsals, 
palsied old man, our considerate parents 
deemed too early for thy rising; and for their 
indulgence to thee wouldst thou show them 
thy gratitude — ^wouldst thou stiU dispense 
instruction, scorning the luxury allowable to 
thy frame, of a slumber till breakfast time— 
a luxury that thou wouldst name an ungrate- 
ful, (to the parents,) an uiiprofitable, (to the 
children,) and to thyself an unnecessary 
idleness. 

And then the tasks over, how pleasurable 



184 



FntK-filDB RAMB1ING0. 



to dwdl upon the congratulations, the en- 
Gouragements thon knewest so well and so 
wisely to ponr out upon us, and to huny 
down to papa and mama to make known to 
them our success and our satisfaction ; and 
then, to feel the happiness of the glad paren- 
tal kiss, and the no less gladdening kiss from 
old grandmamma. And " had we said our 
prayers yet ?" would be the question the de- 
vout old woman would ask us ; and if we 
had not, we would kneel at her side, and re- 
ceive upon our tender hearts the first impres- 
sions of religion — the first thoughts of " the 
dead people's Heaven" — from her reverend 
lips ; and rising with her warm benediction 
upon our heads, would we run to meet Lucy 
with baby in h^ arms, and poor Tom at her 
skirts, to give them our morning welcome-^ 
and then would one of us be appointed by 
mama to call Mr. Kearney to breakfast, not 
without some emulous contention for the 
honour of that duty, which the casting vote 
of papa had always to decide. At length, 
all seated at breakfast, the old man's presence 
infused such a feeling of reverential homage 
inns, that the natural restlessness and vivacity 
of childhood was sobered down into the 
quietude and composure almost of old age 
itself. But at meals only this was the case ; 
for in the hour that followed, our little lungs 
ran riot in the nursery — a solo from those of 
baby ever and anon overtopping the discord 
— assisted by the obtuse rapping of Tom's 
drum, or my hammering with a spoon upon 
the table. Daring such hours (I mean after 
breakfast) would &e old roan devour all the 
politics €^ the paper, and keep them in re- 
serve as a cud to chew with papa over their 
post-prandial tete-a-tetes. 

Methinks even now I hear nurse crying 
out " ha ! ha !" a kind of vindictive exclama- 
tion of her*s, as she announceth the coming 
up stairs of our tutor : — *' Now, I think, ye'll 
be qui'te yourselves — here's Mr. Kearney 
coming to you" — ^whereupon she would make 
her exit with baby, for he is yet too young 
to comprehend the science of syllables, and 
^e hard labour of ''Reading made Easy." 
Although we feared thee — 'twas laot fear — 
'twas an indescribable reverence— yet, excel- 
lent old man, 'twas our's ever to love — ^we 
could not but love thee — ^thou hadst loved 
us so much. How many are the evidences 
of thy affection for us, that have come down 
to me as an heirloom — precious relics that I 
shall never part with; thy manuscript 
rhymes, which thou wonldst give us as shields 
to word off the anger of our parents, dld^my 
unlucky shuttle-cock break a pane of glass, 
did Tom dissolve the features of £Iiza*s wax 



doll, did Eliza tear the new^per, or did 
other accidents happen of whidi eveiy nur- 
sery in the world taketh cognizance. Thy 
rhyming apologies were always enough, kind, 
generous, and able old advocate! to plead 
successfully in our behalf, and to acquit us 
triumphantly. 

Some of these have I before me this 
moment, and it maketh me almost to weep 
for looking at them, contrasting as I am 
childhood's Heaven with manhood's Eeoth — 
the innocent past with the alloyed present. 
Welcome to me, ye paperSj bhnrred and 
wrinkled .and torn though ye be; epiti^hs 
are ye on other days, ttod epitaphs even on 
thyself, poor Mr. Kearney. How hath palsy 
left its tremulous tracety upon them f Wi& 
how great difficulty must thou not have 
been tried to put the stea^ess of thy heart 
and head into thy hand, if I judge from the 
manner of thy writing, from left to right ! 
But let me indulge in a retrogression ; let 
me fiy out of this uneheering present into 
thy bosom ; let me be once again the child ; 
let me go out with thee, as 'twas our wont, 
when our lessons were over, to take flie' walk 
that ever delighted me, healthful as it was 
to mind and body. Let me Ht by the hedge 
»de, fringed with shrubbery, where the 
woodbine and the violet and the furze bios* 
som gave out the blandness of perfume, that 
gratified without palling the sense. For 
'twas in seat like this of our Academia, that 
our Plato had developed and formed our 
earliest love for Nature; m seat like this, 
we were wont to catch glimpses, as it were, 
of Heaven, in the tnofquimties above and 
beneath and around us ; in the sweet breath- 
lessness of the air, in the glassiness of the 
bay, the repose of its islands, of its ships, 
its yachts, and its boats at anchor, that 
seemed, like the islands themselves, to have 
grown there ; and hi the mildest smilings of 
the sunshine. And how would our young 
fencies soar beyond the strainings of vision, 
to wing with the lark his inspired praises, 
his music-offerings, his ''profuse strains of 
unpremeditated art" to the Creator — or (did 
our walk lead us thither) would rest with the 
robin in the graveyard, and deem his notes 
not less sweet, but more solemn, orisons, 
requiems trilled for some depart^ "good 
children." Oh ! days of innocence !--de- 
parted are ye too — ^and not a robin singedt 
his vespers that I do not deem them re- 
quiems over those days ; dmiarted art thou, 
venerable old man ; (^parted, grandmamma; 
departed, father; departed-^—, I cannot 
go on. 



UOLL bob's MABBUas* 



IBH 



MOLL ROE'S MARRIAGE ; 



OB, 



THE PUDDING BEWITCHED. 



A TALE FOB AM JMIMV, ITAU. 



BT WILLIAM CARLETON. 



It is utterly impossible for any one but 
an Irishman fully to comprehend the extni- 
vagance to which the spint of Irish humour 
is often carried^ and that even in circum- 
stances where one would suppose it ought 
least to be expected. In otner countries 
the house of death is in reality the house of 
mourning, and so indeed it is also in Ire- 
land, where domestic grief is felt with a 
power that reaches to the uttermost depths 
of the heart. But then in Ireland this very 
fullness of sorrow^ unlike that which is ma- 
nifested elsewhere, is accompanied by so 
many incongruous associations, apparently 
incompatible with, or rather altogether op- 
posed to, the idea of affliction, that strangers, 
when assured of such an anomalous ad- 
mixture of feelings, can scarcely bring 
themselves to believe in their existence. I 
have said that in Ireland the house of death 
is without doubt the house of mourning; 
but I must not conceal the additional kci, 
that it is also, in comequmee cf ths calamity 
which ha» occurred, the house of fun ; and of 
fun, too,80 broad, grotesque, and extravagant, 
that in no other condition of society, even in 
Ireland, is there anything to be found like 
it This no doubt may appear a rather 
startling assertion, but it is quite true. 

And now many of my sagacious readers 
will at once aet about accounting for such a 
singular ccmibination of mad mirth and pro- 
found sorrow. Let them, however, spare 
their metaphysics, for I will save them a 
long process of reasoning on the subject, by 
stating, that all this datter of laughter and 
comic uproar proceeds firom a principle that 
does honour to Paddy's heart — I mean sym- 
pathy with those whom the death of some 
dear relative has thrown into affliction. In- 
deed no people sympathize more deeply 
with each other than the Irish, or enter more 
fully into the ^irit that prevails, whether 
it be one of joy or sorrow. Tho reaaoD, theo^ 

VOL. Ill, NO, XYII, 



why the neighbours and acquaintances of the 
deceased flock at night to hold Wakes — the 
merriest of all merry meetings — frequently 
in the very house where he or she lies dead, 
is simply that the sense of the bereavement 
may be mitigated by the light-hearted 
amusements which are enacted before their 
eyes. The temperament of the Irish, how- 
ever, is strongly susceptible of the extremes 
of mirth and sorrow, and our national heart is 
capable of being moved by the two impulses 
almost at the same moment. Many a time 
I have seen a widow sitting oyer the dead 
body of an aflfectionate husband, amidst her 
desolate orphans, so completely borne away 
by the irresistible fun ot some antic wag^ 
who acted as Master of the Revels* that she 
has been forced into a fit of laughter that 
brought the tears to her eyes. Often has 
the father — the features of the pious and 
chaste mother of his children composed into 
the mournful stillness of death before him-— 
been, in the same manner, carried into a fit 
of immoderate mirth on contemplating the 
inimitable drolleries exhibited in ' Boxing 
the Connaughtman,' or the convulsiye fun 
of the 'Screw-pin Dance.' The legends 
and tales and stories that are told at Irish 
wakes all bear the impress of this mad ex- 
travagance; and it is because I am now 
about to reJato one of them, that I have 
deemed it expedient to introduce it to my 
readers by this short but necessary preface. 
Those who peruse it are not to imagine that 
I am gravely writing it in my stud^ ; but that, 
on the contnory* they are sittmg in the 
chimney-comer, at an Irish wake, and that 
some droU Senachie, his fiice lit up into aa 
eaqpreaeion of broad fercical humour, is pro- 
ceeding somewhat as follows : — 

" Moll Roe RafiTerty was the son— daugh- 
ther I mane— of ould Jack RafiEerQr, who 
was remarkable for a habit he had of always 
wearing his bead nndher his hat ; but in- 



166 



MOLL ROB 8 MABBIAas; OB 



deed the same family was a quare one, as 
every body knew that was acquainted wid 
them. It was said of them — ^but whether 
it was thrue or not I wont undhertake to 
say, for 'fraid I'd tell a lie — that whenever 
they didn't wear shoes ot boots they always 
went barefooted ; but I hard aftherwards that 
this was disputed, 'so rather than say any- 
thing to injure their caxacther, 111 let that 
pass, as Condy did the dicken.* Now 
ould Jack Rafferty had two sons, Paddy and 
Molly — hut ! what are you all laughing at P 
-^I mane a son and daughter, and it was 
generally believed among the neighbours, 
that they were brother and sisther,. which 
you know might be thrue or it might not ; 
but that's a tbong that, wid the help o* good- 
ness, we have nothing to say to. Throth 
there was many ugly things put out on them 
that I don't wish to Tepate,such as thatneither 
Jack nor his son Paddy ever walked a perch 
widout*puttin' one foot afore the other, like 
a salmon; an' I know it was whispered 
about, that whinever Moll Roe slep', she had 
an out of the way custom of keepin' her eyes 
shut. If she did, however, God forgive her 
•-^the loss was her own; for sure we all 
know that when one comes to shut their 
eyes they can't see as far before them as 
another. 

<'Moll Roe was a fine bouncin' girl, large 
and lavish, wid a purty head o' hair on her 
like scarlet, that beiu' one of the raisons 
why she was called Roe or red ; her arms 
an' cheeks were much the colour of the hair, 
an' her saddle nose was the purtiest thing of 
its kind that ever was on a face. Her 
fists — for, thank goodness, she was well 
sarved wid them too — had a strong simula- 
rity to two thumpin' turnips, reddened by 
the sun ; an' to keep all right and tight, she 
had a temper as fiery as her head — for, in- 
deed, it was well known that all the Rafier- 
ties were «rarm-hearted. Howandiver, it 
appears that God gives nothing in vain, and 
of course the same fists, big and red as they 
were, if all that is said about them is thrue, 
were not so much given to her for ornament 
as use. At laist, takin' them in connexion 
wid her lively temper, we have it upon good 
autority, that there was no danger of their 
getting blue-moulded for want of practice. 
She had a twist, too, in one of her eyes that 
was very becomin* in its way, and made her 
poor husband, when she got him, take it into 



* Decade— -the tenth bead of the ''Bosary" or 
'* Beadfl/' apon which the lower clasees of the 
Irish count their prayers, by passing them through 
their fingers. 



his head that she could see round a comer. 
She found him out in many quare things, 
widout doubt ; but whether it was owin' to 
that or not I wouldn't undhertake to aay^Jar 
/raid rd teU a lie. 

" WeU, begad, anyhow, it was Moll Roe 
that was the dU$y : and aa they say that 
marriages does be sometimes made in hea- 
ven, so did it happen that there was a nate 
vagabone in the neighbourhood, just as 
much overburdened wid beauty as herself, 
and he was named Gusty Gillespie. Gusty, 
the Lord guard us, was what they call a 
black-mouth Plrosbytarian, and wouldn't 
keep Christmas day, the blagazd, except 
what they call '' ould style." Gusty was ra- 
ther goodlookin' when seen in the daric, as 
well as Moll herself; and indeed it was 
purty well known that — accordin' as the 
talk went— it was in nightly meetings that 
they had an opportunity of becomin' de- 
tached to one another. The quensequence 
was, that in due time both families began to 
talk very seriously as to what was to be 
done. Moll>i brother, Pawdiea O'Rafferty, 
gave Gusty the best of two choices. What 
they were it's not worth spaikin' about ; but 
at any rate ime of them was a poser, an' as 
Gusty knew his man, he soon came to his 
senses. Accoidianly everything was de- 



ranged for their marriage, and it was ap- 
pointed that they should be ^liced by the 
Rev. Samuel M'Shuttle, the Prosbytarian 
parson, on the following Sunday. 

** Now this was the first mairiage that had 
happened for a long time in the ndghbour- 
hood betune a blade-mouth an' a Catholic, 
an' of coorse there was strong objections on 
both sides aginst it ; an', begad, only for one 
thing it would never 'a' tuck place at all. 
At any rate, faix, there was one of the bride's 
uncles, ould Harry Connolly, a fairy-man, 
who could cure all complaints wid a secret he 
had, and as he didn't wish to see his niece 
marrid upon sich a fellow, he fought bittherly 
aginst the match. All Moll's fiiends, how- 
ever, stood up for the nunriage barrin' him, 
an' of coorse the Sunday was appointed, as I 
said, that they were to be dove-tailed to- 
gether. 

" Well, the day arrived, and Moll, as be- 
came her, went to mass, and Gusty to meet- 
ing, afther which they were to join one ano- 
ther in Jack Rafferty's, where the priest. 
Father M'Sorley, was to slip np afther mass 
to take his dinner wid them, and to keep 
Misther M'Shuttle, who was to many them, 
company. Nobody remained at home but 
ould Jack Rafiferty an' his wife, who stopped 
to dress the dinner, for to tell the thmth it 



THB PUDDlKa BEWITCHED. 



157 



was to be a great let out entirely. May be, 
if all was known, too, that Father M'Sorley 
was to give them a cast of his office over an' 
above the Ministher, in regard that Moll's 
friends weren't altogether satisfied at the 
kind of marriage which M'Shuttle could 
give them. The sorrow may care about that 
—splice here— splice there — all I can say 
is, Uiat when Mrs. Rafferty was goin' to tie 
up a big bag puddin', in walks Harry Con- 
nolly, tSte fairy-man, in a rage, and shouts 
out, — * Blood and blunderbushes, what are 
yez here for?' 

** ' Arra why, Harry ? Why, avick ?* 
" ' Why, the sun 's in the suds and the 
moon in the high Horicks ; there's a dipstick 
comin' an, an' there you're both as uncon- 
samed as if it was about to rain mother. Go 
out and cross yourselves three times in the 
name o' the four Mandromarvinsr, for as 
prophecy says : — Fill the pot, Eddy, super- 
naculum — a blazing star 's a rare spectacu- 
lum. Go out both of you and Iook at the 
sun, I say, an' yell see the condition he's in 
— off!' 

" Begad, sure enough. Jack gave a bounce 
to the door, and his yme leaped like a two- 
year ould, till they were both got on a stile 
beside the house to see what was wrong in 
the sky. 

" ' Arra, what is it. Jack,' said she, ' can 
you see anything ?' 

" ' No,' says he, ' sorra the full o' my eye 
of anything I can spy, barrin' the sun him- 
self, that's not visible in regard of the clouds. 
God guard us ! I doubt there's something 
to happen.' 

"* If there wasn't. Jack, what 'ud put 
Hany, that knows so much, in the state he's 
m r 

" ' I doubt it's this marriage,' said Jack : 
' betune ourselves, it's not over an' above 
religions for Moll to marry a black*mouth, 
an' only for , but it can't be helped now, 
though you see, the divil a taste o the sun 
is willin'. to show his face upon it.' 

'' ' As to that,' says the wife, winkin' wid 
both her eyes, ' if Gusty 's satisfied wid Moll, 
it's enough. I know wholl carry the whip 
hand, any how ; but in the mane time let us 
ax Harry 'ithin what ails the sun,' 

" WeU, they accordianly went in an' put 
the question to him ; but *!Harry lent them 
a deaf ear on that subject. 

" * Harryy what's wrong, ahagur ? What 
18 it now, for if anybody alive knows, 'tis 
yourself ?' 

*' ' There's nothin' wrong,' said Harry, 
screwin' his mouth wid a kind of dhry smile, 
* but I tell you you'll have a menrier weddin' 



than you think, that's all ;* and bavin' said 
this, he put on his hat and left the house. 

•* Now Harry's answer relieved them very 
much, and so, afther calling to him to be 
back for the dinner. Jack sat down to take a 
shough o' the pipe, and the wife lost no 
time in tying up the pudden and puttin' it 
in the pot to be boiled. 

" In this way things went on well enough 
for a while. Jack smokin' away, an' the wife 
cookin' and dhressin' at the rate of a hunt. 
At last Jack, while sittin', as I said, con- 
tentedly at the fire, thought he could per- 
save an odd dancin' kind of motion in the 
pot, that puzzled him a good deal. 

'' ' Katty,' said he, ' what the dickens is in 
this pot on the fire ?' 

" ' Nerra thing but the big pudden. Why 
do you ax ?' says she. 

" ' Why,' said he, ' if ever a pot tuck it 
into its head to dance a jig, and this did. 
Thundher and sparables, look at it !' 

" Begad, it was thrue enough ; there was 
the pot bobbin' up an' down and from side 
to side, jiggin' it away as merry as a grig ; 
an' it was quite aisy to see that it wasn t the 
pot itself, but what was inside of it, that 
brought about the hornpipe. 

*' ' Be the hole o' my coat,' shouted Jack, 
' there's something alive in it, or it would ne- 
ver cut sich capers I' 

" ' Be the vestment, there is. Jack ; 
something sthrauge entirely has got into it. 
Wirra, man alive, what's to be done P' 

" Jist as she spoke, the pot seemed to cut 
the buckle in prime style, and afther a spring 
that 'ud shame a dancin'-masther, off flew 
the lid, and out bounced the pudden itself, 
hoppin', as nimble as a pea on a drum- 
head, about the floor. Jack blessed him- 
self, and Katty crossed herself. Jack shouted, 
and Katty screamed. ' In the name of the 
nine Evangels,' said he, 'keep your distance, 
no one here injured you !' 

" The pudden, however, made a set at 
him, and Jack lepped first on a chair and 
then on the kitchen table to avoid it. It 
then danced towards Katty, who was now 
repadn' her pather an' avys at the top of her 
voice, while the cunnin' thief of a pudden 
was hoppin' and jiggin' it round her, as if it 
was amused at her distress. 

'"If I could get the pitchfork,' said Jack, 
* I'd dale wid it— by goxty I'd thry its 
mettle.' 

''' No, no,' shouted Katty, thinkin' there 
was a fairy in it ; ' let us spake it fair. Who 
knows what harm it might do. Asy now/ 
said she to the pudden, ' aisy, dear ; don't 
harm honest people that never meant to of- 

2m 



168 



IIQIX lOB'fl 1UBBU4»; tOR 



knd ymju It ^wnm't mh-co, in tluotli^ it 
was ouU Hany Connolly that bewitched 
yoa ; punue i*» if you wish, but spare a 
woman like me ; toTy whisper, dear, I'm Jiot 
in a conditioii to be ikightened — throth I'm 
not.' 

" The podden, bedad, seeoied to take her 
at her word, and danced away from her to- 
wards Jack, who, like the wife, belierin' 
there was a faixy in it, and that qnkki' it 
£urwaa the best plan, thought he would 
give it a soft word as well as her. 

*' * Piase your honour/ said Jack, ' she 
only spaiks the truth. You don't know what 
harm you might do here ; an', upon my fo- 
ncity, we bodi feels much oblaiged to your 
hoDOur for vour quietness. Fakh« it's quite 
clear that if you weren't a gentlemanly pud- 
den all out, you'd act otherwise. Quid 
Harry« the dam' rogue, is your maik ; he's 
jist gone down the road there, and if yon go 
fast youll overtake him. Be me song, your 
dancin'-masthar did his duty, any how. 
Thank your honour I Grod speed you, an' 
may you never meet wid a priest, parscm, or 
alderman in your tfaravds !' 

* Jist as Jack spoke, the pudden appeared 
to take the hint, for it qitietly hoppled out, 
and as the house was directly on the road- 
side, turned down towards the bridge, the 
very way that ould Harry went It was 
very natural of coorse that Jack and Katty 
diould go out to see how it intended to thra- 
vel ; and, as the day was Sunday, it was but 
natnraly too, that a greater number of peo- 
ple than usual were passin' the road. This 
was a fact. And when Jack and his wife 
were seen followin' the pudden, the whole 
neighbourhood was soon up and afther it 

'' ' Jack Rafferty, what is it ? Katty, a 
hagnr, will you tell us what it manes ?' 

" ' Why,' rallied Katty, ' be the vestments, 
it's my big pudden that s bewitched, an' it's 
now hot-foot pursuin' — ,' here she stopped, 
not wishin' to meotion her brother's name, — 
' tomt one or other that surely put jMtrogues 
an it.'* 

*' This was enough ; Jack, now seein' that 
he had assistance, found his courage comin' 
back to him, so says he to Katty, 'go 
home,' savs he, ' an' lose no time in makin' 
anotiier pudden as good, an' here's Paddy 
Scanlan's wife, Bridget, says she'll let you 
boil it on her fire, as youll want our own to 
dress the rest o' the dinner ; and Paddy 
himself will lend me a pitchfork, for divle 
resave the morsel of that same pudden will 
escape till I let the wind out of it, now that 

.■ — ■■I . ■ ■ ■ I m ^.^m^m^^^mt^mmmm^^m^m^m^^^^m, 

* Put it aader fairy influonce. 



t€ 



U 



I've the neighiiours to back an' auppott me,' 
says Jack. 

" This was agreed to, and Katty went 
back to prepaK a fresh puddeo, while Jack 
an' half the townland pursued the other wid 
spades, graips, pitchmks, scythes, flails, and 
all possible description of instruments. On 
the pudden wen^ however, at the rate of 
about six Irii^ miles an hom*, an' divle sic^ 
a chase ever was seen. Catholics, Prodea- 
tans, an' Pro8b3rtarians were all alther it, 
armed as I said, an' bad end to the thing 
but its own activity could save it. Here it 
made a hop, and Uiere a prod was made at 
it; but off it went, an' some one as aiger to 
get a slice, at it on the other side got the 
wod instead of the pudden. Big Fiank 
Farrell, the miller of Ballyboulteen, got a 
prod backwards that brought a hullabaloo 
out of him you might hear at the othor eod 
of the parish. One got a slice of a scythe, 
another a whack of a flail, a third a np of a 
spade that made him look nine ways at 
wansL 

' Where is it goin' P asked one. 
' It's goiu' to mass,* replied a second. 
' Then it's a Catholic pudden,' exclaimed a 
third — * down wid it.' * No,' said a fourth, 
' it's above superstition; my life for you, it's 
on its way to meeting. Three cheers fer it^ 
if it turns to Caintaul.' ' Prod the sowl out 
of it, if it's a Prodestan',' shouted the others ; 
' if it turns to the left, slice it into pancakes. 
We'll have no Prodestan puddens here.' 

'' Begad, by this time the people were oa 
the point of beginnin' to have a regular fight 
about it, when, very fortunately, it took a 
short turn down a little by-lane that led to- 
wards the Methodist praichin-house, an' in 
an instant all parties were in an uproar 
aginst it as a Methodist pudden. ' It's a 
Wesleyan,' shouted several voices, ' an' by 
this an' by that, into a Methodist cluipel it 
won't put a foot to-day, or we'll lose a fall. 
Let the wind out of it. Come, boys, where's 
your pitchforks ?' 

''The divle purshue the (me of them, 
however, ever could touch the pudden, an' 
jist when they thought they had it up 
against the gavel of the Methodist cha:p&, 
begad it gave them the slip, and hops over 
to the left, clane into the river, and sails 
away before all their eyes as light as an egg* 
shell.' 

^ Now, it so happened, that a little be- 
low this place, the demesne wall of Colonel 
Bragshaw was built up to the very edge of 
the river on each side of its banks; axid so 
findin' there was a stop put to theur pursuit 
of it, they went home again, erery man. 



ITHB PUBIIING BEWETGHED. 



159 



weuaot and child of tbem^ puaxled to think 
what the paddw was at all — ^whether Catho- 
lic, ProdestBQ, Prosbytarian, or Methodist 
— ^what it meant^ or where it waa goin' I 
Had Jac^ Rafferty an' his wife been wil- 
lin' to let out the opinion they held about 
Hany Connolly bewitchin* it, there is no 
doubt of it but poor Harry might be badly 
trated by the crowd, when their blood was 
up* They had senae enough, howandiver, 
to keep that to themdelves, for Hairy behi' 
an oiud bachelar, was a kind friend to the 
Baflfertys. So^ of coorse, there was all kinds 
of talk about it, some guessin' this and some 
guassin' that one party sayin' the pudden 
was of their side, another party denyin* it, 
an' insistin' it belonged to them, an' so on*' 

'^ In the laaae time, Katty Rafierty, for 
'fraid the dinner might come short, went 
home and made anotl^r pudden much about 
the same size as the one that had eseiqped, 
and bnngin* it oves to their next neighbour. 
Faddy Seanlan's, it was put into a pot and 
placed on the fire to boil, hopin' that it 
might be done in time, espishOly as they 
were to have the priest an' the udnisth^, 
and that both loved a warm slice of a good 
pudden as well as e*er a pair of men in £u- 
rope.* 

"Anyhow, the day passed; Moll and 
Gusty were made man an' wife, an.' no two 
could be more lovin'. Their friends that 
had been asked to the weddin' were saon^ 
tarin' about in pleasant little g^ups till din- 
ner time, chattin' an' laughin'; but, above 
all things, sthrivia* to account for the figaries 
of the pudden, for, to tell the truth, its ad- 
ventures had now gone through the whole 
parish. 

" Well, at any rate, dinner-time was 
dhrawin' near, and Faddy Scanlan was sittiu' 
comfortably wid his wife at the fire, the 
pudden boilen before their eyes, when in 
walks Hany Connolly, in a flutther, shout- 
in*—^ Blood an' blunderbushes, what are 
yez here for ?' 

" * Arra, why, Harry, why, avick?* said 
Mrs. Scanlan. 

" • Why,' said Harry, ' the sun 's in the 
suds an' the moon in the high Horicks I— 
Here's a clipstick comin' an, au' there you 
»t as unconsamed as if it was about to 
rain mether ! Go out an' cross yourselves 
three times in the name of the four Man- 
dromarvins, for, as prophecy says : — Fill the 
pot, Eddy, supernaculum — a blazin' star 's a 
rare spectaculum I Go out both of you, an' 
look at the sunj I say, and yell see the 
condition l^e's Ij^ — pfifl 



'*' Ay, but, Harry, what's that rowled up 
in the tail of yonr cothamore (big-coat) ?' 

" ' Out wid yez,' said Hany, ' cross your- 
selves three times in the name of the four 
Maudromarvins, an' pray aginst the clip- 
stick — ^the sky's falliu' !' 

" Begad, it was hard to say whether 
Paddy or the wife got out first, they were so 
much alarmed by Harry's wild thin face, 
an' piercin' eyes ; so out they went to- see 
what was wondherful in the sky» an' kep* 
lookin' an' lookin' in every direction j^ but 
divle a thing was to be seen, barrin' the sun 
shinin' down wid great goodrhunumr, an' 
not a single cloud in the sky,* 

'* Faddy an' the wife now came in 
laughin'i to scould Harry, who bo doubt was 
a great wag in his way, when he wished. 
' Musha, bad scran to you, Harry — ' They 
had time to say no more, howandiver> for as 
they were goin' into the door they uftet him 
comin' out of it wid a reek of smoke out of 
his. tail, like a lime kiln.' 

" ' Harry,' shouted Bridget, ' my sowl to 
glory» but the tail of your cotfaamore's afire; 
you'll be burned ! Don't you see the smoke 
that's out of it ?' 

" Cross yourselves three times,' said 
Harry, widout stoppin', or even lookin' be- 
hind him, — ^^ Cross yourselves three times 
in the name of the four Maudromarvins, for 
as the prophecy says : — Fill the pot, Eddy—* 
They could hear m> morej, for Harry ap- 
peared to feel like a man that cariied some- 
thing a great deal hotter than he wished, as 
any might see by the Hvelineas of his uuj- 
tious, and the quare. faces he was loiced to 
make as he went along.' 

*' < What the dickens is he carryin' in the 
skirts of his big coat/ asked Faddy. 

" ' My sowl to happiness, but maybe he 
has stole the pudden, said Bridget, ' for its 
known that many a sthrange thing he 
does.' 

" They immediately exammed the pott 
but found that the pudden was there as safe 
as tuppence, an' this puzzled them the mores 
to think what it was. he could be cacryin' 
about wid him in the manner he did. But 
little they knew what he had done while they 
were sky-gazin' !' 

" Well, anyhow, the da^ passed and the 
dinner was ready, an' no doubt but a fine 
gatherin' there was to partake of it* The 
priest and the Frosbytarian ministher had 
met the MeUiodist praichei^-a good, civil 
man he was, io thrQth«-^oa their way to 
Jnfik Rafferty's, an.' as they knew they could 
take the liberty, why they insisted en his.. 



160 



MOLL boe'b mabriagb; or 



dinin' wid them; for^ afther all« begad, in 
thim times the clargy of all discriptions lived 
upon the best footin among one another ; 
not all as one as now — ^but no matther. 
WeU, they had nearly finished their dinner, 
when Jack Rafierty himself axed Katty for 
the pudden ; but, jist as he spoke, in it came 
as big as a mess-pot.' 

" ' Gintlemen/ said he, ' I hope none of 
you will refuse tasdn' a bit of Katty 's pud- 
den; I don't mane the dancin' one that 
tuck to its thravels to-day, but a good sohd 
fellow that she med since.' 

*" To be sure we won't,' replied the priest, 
' so. Jack, put a thrifle on them three plates 
at your right hand, and send them over here 
to the clargy, an' may be,' he said, laughin', 
for he was a droll good-humoured man, — 
' may be. Jack, we wont set you a proper 
example.' 

'' ' Wid a heart an' a half, yer Rererence 
an' gintlemen ; in throth it's not a bad ex- 
ample ever any of you set usy or ever will 
set us, I'll go bail. An' sure I only wish 
it' was betther fare I had for you; but we're 
humble people, gintlemen, and so you can't 
expect to meet here what you would in 
higher places.' 

'« ' Betther a male of herbs,' said the Me- 
thodist praicher, where pace is — .' He had 
time to go no farther, however, for much to 
his amazement, the priest and the ministher 
started up from the table jist as he was goin' 
to swallow the first spoonful of the pudden, 
and before you could say Jack Robinson, 
started away at a lively jig down the floor.' 

** At this moment a neighbour's son came 
runnin' in, an' tould them that the parson 
was comin* in to see the new-married couple, 
an' wish them all happiness, an' the words were 
scarcely out of his mouth when he made 
his appearance. What to think he knew 
not, when he saw the priest an' ministher 
footing it away at the rate of a weddin'. 
He had very little time, however, to think, 
for, before he could sit down, up starts the 
Methodist praicher, and clappin* his two 
fists in his sides, chimes in in great style 
along wid them.' 

*' ' Jack Rafferty,' says he,— and, by the 
way. Jack was his tenant, — * what the dick- 
ens does all this mane ?' says he; 'I'm 
amazed !' 

** ' The divle a particle o' me can tell 
jrou,' says Jack; 'but will your reverence 
jist taste a morsel o' pudden, merely that 
the youne couple may boast that you ait at 
their weddin' ; for sure if vau wouldn't, wAo 
would ?• 
''*WeU; says he, 'to gratify them I 



will; so just a morsel.' 'But, Jack, this 
bates Bannagher,' says he again, puttin' the 
spoonful o' pudden into his mouth, 'has 
there been dhrink here P' 

" ' Oh, the divle a 9pudh,* says Jack, ' for 
although there's plinty in the house, fiiith, it 
appears the gintlemen wouldn't wait for it. 
Unless they tuck it elsewhere, I can make 
nothin of this.' 

" He had scarcely spoken, when the parson, 
who was an active man, cut a caper a yard higfa^ 
an' before you could bless yourself, the four 
clargy were hard at work dancin* as if for a 
wager. Begad it would be unpossible for 
me to tell you the state the whole meetin' 
was in when they seen this. Some were 
hoarse wid laughin, some turned up their eyes 
wid wondher ; many thought them mad, an' 
others thought they had turned np their lit- 
tle fingers a thrifle too often.' 

" Be goxty, it's abumin' shame,' said one, 
' to see four clan;y in sich a state at this 
early hour I' ' llmndher- an' ounze, what's 
over them at all ? says others ; why, one 
would think they're bewitched. Holy Moses, 
look at the caper the Methodist cuts ! An' 
Father M'Sorley ! Himam an dwual f 
who would think he could handle his feet at 
sich a rate ! Be this an' be that, he ' cuts 
the buckle' and does the ' thieblin' step* 
aquil to Paddy Horaghan, the dancin'-mas- 
ther himself! An' see ! Bad cess to the 
morsel af the ministher an' the parson that's 
not hard at ' Peate upon a trencher^ an' it of 
a Sunday too I Whirroo, gintlemen, the fun's 
in yea afther all — ^whish ! more power to 
yez!' 

" The sorra's own fun they had, an' no 
wondher; but judge of what uiey felt, when 
all at once they saw ould Jack Rafi*ertjr 
himself boxmcin in among them, and foot-' 
ing it away like the best o' them. Be- 
dad no play could come up to it, an' no- 
thin' could be heard but laughin', 
shouts of encouragement, and clappin* of 
hands Uke mad. Now the minute Jade 
Rafiferty left the chair where he had beeu 
carvin' the pudden, ould Harry Connolly 
comes over and claps himself down in his 
place, in ordher to send it round, pf coorsc j 
an* he was scarcely sated, when who /should 
make his appearance but Barney HartighL^* 
the piper. Barney, by the way, had been 
sent for early in the day, but beui*^ from 
home when the message for him wei4, lie; 
couldn't come any sooner.' 

" ' Begorra,' said Barney, * you're airly at 
the work, gintlemen ! Oh, blessed Phadrig f 
—the clargy too ! Honam an dkutd^ what' 
does this mane ? fiut^ divle may care, yez 



THB PUDDINa BEWITCHED. 



161 



shan't want the music while there's a blast 
in the pipes, any how !' So sayin' he gave 
them ' Jig Polthogue/ and afther that ' Kiss 
my Lady,' in his best style.' 

*' In Uie mean time the fun went on thick 
an' threefold, for it must be remimbered 
that Hany, the ould knave, was at the pud- 
den ; an' maybe he didn't sarve it about in 
double quick time too. The first he helped 
was the bride, and, before you could say 
chopstick,she was at it hard an' fast before the 
Methodist praicher, who immediately quit 
Father M'Sorley, and gave a jolly sj>ring 
before her that threw them into convulsions. 
Harry liked this, and made up his mind soon 
to find partners for the rest ; so he accor- 
dianly sent the pudden about like lightnin' ; 
and to make a long story short, barrin' the 
piper an* himself, there wasn't a pair o' heels 
m the house but was as busy at the dancin' 
as if their lives depinded on it' 

" ' Baniy,' says Harry, ' jist taste a mor- 
sel o' this pudden, divle the sich a bully of 
pudden ever you ett ; here, your sowl I thry 
a snig of it — ^it's beautiful.' 

" ' To be sure I will,' says Barney, * I'm 
not the boy to refuse a good thing ; but, 
Hany, be quick, for you know my hands is 
engaged; an' it would be a thousand pi- 
ties not to keep them in musick, an' they so 
well incline. Thank you, Harry ; begad 
that is a famous pudden ; but blood an' tur- 
nips, what's this for !' 

"The word was scarcely out of his 
mouth when he bounced up, pipes an' all, 
an' dashed into the middle of them. 'Hur- 
Too, your sowls, let us make a night of it ! 
The Ballyboulteen boys for ever I Goit,your 
reverence — turn your partner— heel an toe, 
ministher. — Good ! Well done again. — 
WhishI Hurroo! Here's for Ballyboul- 
teen, an' the sky over it 1' 

" Bad luck to the sich a set ever was seen 
together in this world, or will again, I sup- 
pose. The worst, however, wasn't come yet, 
for jist while they were in the very heat an' 
fuiy of the dance, what do you think comes 
boppin' in among them but another pudden, 
as nimble an' merry as the first ! That was 
enough ; they all had heard of the clargy 
among the rest — an' most o' them seen the 
other pudden, and knew that there must be 



either the divle or a fairy in it, sure enough. 
Well, as I said, in it comes to the thick o' 
them ; but the very appearance of it was 
enough. Off the four clargy danced, and off 
the whole weddiners danced after them, 
every onemakin' the best of their way home ; 
but divle a soul of them able to break out of 
the step, if they were to be hanged for it. 
Throth it wouldn't lave a laugh in you to 
see the priest an' the parson dancin down 
the road on their way home together, an' the 
ministher and Methodist praicher cuttiu' the 
buckle as they went along in the opposite 
direction. To make short work of it, they 
all danced home at last, wid scarce a puff of 
wind in them; the bride and bridegroom 
danced away to bed ; and now, boys, come 
an' let us dance the Horo Lhei^ in the bam 
'idout. But you see, boys, before we go, an' 
in ordher that I may maJie everything plain, 
I had as good tell you, that Harry, in cros- 
sin' the bridge of Ballyboulteen, a couple of 
miles below Squire Bragshaw's demesne- 
wall, saw the pudden floatin' down the ri- 
ver — I suppose he expected it ; but be this 
as it may, he took it out, for the wather had 
made it as clane as a new pin, and tuckin' it 
up in the tail of his big coat, contrived as 
you all cuess, I suppose, to change it 
whUe Paday Scanlan an' the wife were ex- 
aminin' the sky ; and for the other, he con« 
trived to bewitch it in the same manner, by 
gettin' a fiiiry to go into it, for, indeed, it 
was purty well known tliat the same' Harry 
was hand an' glove wid the ^ood peopte. 
Others will tell you that it was half a pound 
of quicksilver he put into it; but that doesn't 
stand to raison. At any rate, boys, I have 
tould you the adventures of Uie Mad Pud- 
den of Ballyboulteen ; but I don't wish to 
tell you many other things about it that 
happened— ^^/rau^ Vd tell a lie.* 



* This superstition of the dancing or bewitched 
pudding has not, so far as I have been able to as- 
certain, erer been given to the public before. The 
singular tendency to saltation is attributed to two 
causes, both of which are introduced in the tale. 
Some win insist that a fairy-man or fairy-woman 
has the power to bewitch a pudding by putting a 
fairy into it ; whUst others maintain that a com- 
petent portion of quicicsUver wiU make it dance 
over half the parish. 



161 



HUrrOBT OF THB URKN TRADE. 



HISTORY OF THE LINEN TRADE. 



PART II. 



*' lULiNDf IN KtUnOir TO ItfOlAJIl), MAT Bl COMFAKBD TO A TOUROBB llflTH LATILY GOVS OP AOB, AFTSB 
■ATtHO fUmUO ALU Tfll MIUaiBS OP AK IlfJVaiD MIKOm, IVCH Al LAWtum* IITCBOAOBllBlITt PPOM BBE HtO- 
ySBTT* TIO&ATiqif OP BIB BlOITi, DBlTBVOTIOlf OP HBB TBHARTS, ABO SVBBT BTIL TBAT CAM BB MAMBD.' 
OP OBBBBTf 17*1 •* 



Iv the Jaouaiy numberwe save a brief sketch 
of the statataiy History of the Linen Trade 
from the year 1642« to the close of the se- 
venteenth century; it now remains to trace 
its progress from that time to the present 
Before, however, we enter on its history 
during the eighteenth century, it will be ne- 
cessary to take a brief retrospect, so as to 
carry with us a remembrance of the events 
of the latter part of that which preceded, with 
the details of which we closed our fonser 



It will be remembered, that in order to 
secure to England a monopoly* of the wool- 
len trade, her Lwds and Commons in con* 
junction with our Ejng, proposed to the 
Irish parliament that Ireland should relin- 
quish her trade in woollens in fiivour of Eng- 
land, on the conditimK that England should 
relinquish that of linens in fiivour of Ire- 
land, and that they should mutually sive 
every encouragement, the one to the other, 
in what were thenc^orth to be ccmsidered 
their respective trades. 

It woold be superfluous to enter iato any 
argument to show how unfiur was the mro- 
position, that the staple manu&cture of^one 
nation should be handed over to another, for 
no higher considenitian than that of being en- 
courafied in the extension of a different trade 
in which she was engaged, and which, though 
intrinsically valuable, was at that time 
one of comparatively minor importance. 
That a total want of reciprocal interest must 
bemetwilh^inacoamactfounded on such 
a proposition, is self-evident; however, as 
the compact was entered into, the abs^ce 
of mutual advantage in the terms need not 
now be canvassed. 

We have seen how faithfully Ireland ful- 
filled her part of the treaty ; we have also 
had evidence of the national decay which 

* Lettrn on Swift's Lifs and WritlDgs» ztL p. 
127. 



was the immediate consequence ; and 
we saw that up to the close of William's 
reign, Englana appeared to have utterly for- 
gotten that part of^her compact whi<;h bound 
her to give the linen trade of Ireland every 
encouragement it should be capable of; 
while in opposition to the fundamental prin- 
ciples of the constitution, she forced upon 
us an extension of that part of the treaty 
which related to the prohibition of our 
woollen manufacture. 

It must not, however, be forgotten that 
the parliament which entered into this bar- 
gain for us, were not the representatives of 
the people; in their election the people of the 
land had no voice ; they were for the most 
part nominees of an unnational aristocracy, 
or the obsequious minions of an anti-Irish go- 
vernment; and holding their seats irrespec- 
tive of the popular will, they sympathised 
not with the wants of Uie people, nor re- 
garded the mterests of the country. Yet in 
all things they were not subservient to Ens- 
land ; and while we find them with placid 
unanimity submitting to her dictation, where 
the beggary of our people was the forfeit, we 
at the same instant find a powerful party 
roused into firm and effective resistance by 
a demand made on the chartered rights of 
their patrons. When the Lords Justices, on 
the part of England, demanded that our 
woollen trade should be put down, it was 

S reposed to efiect it by levyinff prohibitoiy 
uUes, under the imposing tiUe of " Sup- 
plies ;" and. the Commons Journals of the 
time furnish evidence, that while the only 
property that remained to the people — 
the sweat of their brow and the fhiit there- 
of — ^was unanimously alienated by a corrupt, 
because irresponsible paiiiament, the pro- 
perty of the nobles was held sacred. 

''The Solicitor-General reported firom 
the committee appointed to consider of 
their Excellencies the Lends Justices' 
speech^ that they came to two resolutions. 



HlffrOBY OF THB UKIN TRIDI. 



163 



which were then read and put from the 
chair i-^Rsiolwd — ^That it is the opinion of 
this committee that an additional duty he im- 
posed on a]l new drapery of the manufactore 
of this kinsdom that shall he exported from 
the same, neize excepted. Rstolned — ^That 
towards Uie said supply a tax he laid on all 
beneficial grants of any lands, tenements, 
and hereditaments, made to any person hy 
his Majesty." The former of these re- 
solutions was passed by the House, nem. 
con; whereas the latter, though eman- 
ating from the same source, was negatived 
by a majority of ninety-two to eighty-five.* 
We recwd these votes as being a fiiir sample 
of what must be expected from a legisla- 
tive body not subjected to popidar control. 
8nch was the Irish parliament at that time, 
it was in no way accountable to the people ; 
and when their rights were assaOed, no voice 
was raised within the senate-house to plead 
thefr cause — ^no patriot arm outstretched to 
stem the torrent of oppression. 

We may now proceed to examine the de- 
tails of the trade during the eighteenth cen- 
tury ; and on looking to the lists of our ex- 
ports at the beginning of that period, we will 
find that while our compact with England 
had put a complete checx to the export of 
woollens, her promued encouragement did 
not increase that of linens. We exported in 

1698 ... 23,727 

1699 ... 18,868 

1700 ... 12,714 

1701 ... 9,408f pieces of linen. 
Finding that it was vain to hope for ef- 
fectual encouragement from the English 
parliament, however solemnly pledged to it, 
we had to look nearer home for assistance ; 
and our own parliament seeing that the deso- 
lating efifects of their late legislation was not 
confined to the working classes alone, but 
was quickly spreading through every rami- 
fication of Uie social firame, felt that if prompt 
measures were not taken to stay its progress, 
they also might be included in the general 
ruin which Uireatened ; and knowing that 
England, on whose promises they affected to 
rely, could not be depended on, they took the 
encouragement of the linen manufacture into 
their own hands, and set to work with the 
earnestness of men from whose political vo- 
cabulary ^'impoinhW had been expunged. 
Despite the rivalry of England, and de- 
spite what was stiU worse,— the niggardly 
cramping, fettering enemiroffement which 
has been so often boasted of, under their 

* Com. Jour., vol. IL p. 255. 

t .Neweoham's Tlew, ^pendiac, USb, t& 



zealous culture the linen trade increased till 
the stunted shrub became the mighty oak. 
But we must not anticipate* 

It would be difficult to tnu:e the gra* 
dual and, though slow, yet onward and stea- 
dy progress wbach the spirit of nationality 
began at this time to assume* In the senate 
house it had for a long time ceased to show 
itself, and remained hushed as in the stillness 
of death. But the reaction which overstrain* 
ed oppression never yet failed to excite, 
began now to exhibit itself even there. 
Weak and feeble indeed was it as yet ; but 
'twas there, and there was again hope. *' A 
little leaven leaveneth the whole lump ;" and 
the protest against the interdiction of our 
woollen trade, which was uttered in tones 
scarcely audible to the fruthfril lew who then 
were found to utter it, died not oiv the na- 
tion's ear, till the principles they contended 
for were unequivocally recognized (as we 
have before shown) in the unanimous xeso* 
lution of the Commons for the encourage- 
ment of native manufiKture. We cannot 
however further pursue this interesting topic 
at present, but must pass on to the subject 
more immediately before us. 

The first step taken for the advancement 
of this trade,* was to abolii^ such duties 
as were imposed on the export of the ma- 
nu&ctured article, and on the import of 
such commodities as were reqtnred in the 
different processes of the manufacture. This 
was effected by the fourth clause in 4th act 
of Anne, chap. iv. whereby it was enacted 
" that from and after the 1st day of August, 
1705, there shall be paid no duty whatever 
for or on account of the exporting any flaxen 
or hempen cloath, made or manufactuied in 
this kingdom."f Bv « subsequent clause, 
the import duty on Uneign potashes, and on 
differeiit sorts of hemp and flax-seed were 
done away. It would be useless to enume- 
rate the various acts which were passed for the 
improvement of this trade, firom the time 
when it became the only one our rulen per- 
mitted us to have. We will therefore refer 
to a few only, as serving to illustrate the 
principle which was acted on, and then pass 
on to review the manner in whidi England 
fulfilled her *' compact." 

At a very early period the system of 
boimties was introduced. The space allotted 
to us will not permit of our entering into a 
dicussion of this system in an economic 
point of view. We at present mention it 
merely as a historic fact ; and allow our rea- 

* 16th JvM, 1706. see Ceoi* Jeor* voL It 461* 

t Statutes, ToL iv. 74i^ 



IM 



HI8T0BT OF tHB LINEN TRADE. 



den to draw their own conclusioiui on the 
abstnct principle. By the 6th Anne, ch. ix. 
it was enacted that, " whoeoever shall import 
or cause to he imported into this kingdom, 
any good and sound hempseed, of the growth 
of Russia, Germany, the Netherlands, and 
the £ast country, shall receive for every 
hogshead of such hempseed, as a premium, 
the sum of five shillings sterling ; and he 
it likewise enacted, that, for the better en- 
couraging and making of good sail-cloth in 
this longdom, the exporters of such sail- 
cloth, well and sufficiently made, shall receive 
as a premium for eveiy jaid of top-sail can- 
vass made of sound and good hemp, of lOd. 
per yard value, and under 14d. so exported, 
the snm of Id. and for every yard of sail- 
canvass made of Holland dude of the value 
of 14d. per yard, the sum of 2d."* 

In 1709, an act was passed redtinff the 
6th Anne, whereby a bounty of five shmings 
per hogshead was granted on the importa- 
tion of flaxseed ; and the bounties on the 
export of sail-cloth were increased to 2d. for 
the cheaper, and to 4d. per yard for the 
dearer canvass, f And in the following year, 
by the 9th Anne, ch. iii, so well knowi» as 
the act under which the *' trustees of the 
linen and hemnen manufactures," (more fa- 
miliarly termed " The Linen Board,") were 
appointed, a duty of sixpence per yard iras de • 
ciared, " over and above Uiose imposed by 
the 14th and 15th Charles II. chapters 8 and 
9, on oi/ linens imported into this king- 
dom."t This act gave to the Trustees the 
management of the several duties thus le- 
vied, which it was expressly stated should be 
all expended in the improvement of the na- 
tive manufocture. By a clause id the act, 
they were " required to apply annually, dur- 
ing the continuance of the said duties, one 
moiety of the money so arising firom them, 
to the advancement and carrying on of the 
hempen manufacture;"! and the other moiety 
to the advancement of the flax trade. To point 
out the diflferent steps taken by the " Trus- 
tees" to attain the end for which they were 
appointed, would fill a goodly volume. 
We cannot, therefore, be expected, in such 
a sketch as the present, to do more than re- 
fer, by way of illustration, to some of the 
means adopted by them for the improve- 

* StatQtM, vol. iv, p. 132. 

!8th Anne, ch. xiL 
The duties referred to amounted to 12to. per 
hnndred eUi; but having been imposed for the 
purpose of raising money for the crown rather than 
to protect the home market; th^ were not intro- 
daeed at an earlier period of this sketch. 
§ Statates, voL 4, p. 264. 



ment and extension of the trade, and in a 
general way point out the results of their 
labours. Were we inclined to act the cen- 
sor, we would, no doubt, find many parti- 
culars wherein they have erred ; bnt it is 
certain that, under Uieir management» a rvpid 
prosress was made, whereby the national 
wcmS was advanced, and with us this ** covers 
a multitude of sins." 

We propose, however, before entering cm 
these topics, to enquire, first, whether the 
Lords and Commons of England gave 
their ''utmost assistance to encourage the 
linen and hempen manufactures of Ireland." 
and secondly, whether England set up or 
encouraged a rival manuuicture in direct 
opposition to the terms of the treaty. It 
is manifest that England allowed seven 
years to elapse before she did anything to- 
wards the completion of the bargain; and 
even then the small pittance of justice which 
she doled out with niggard hand, was of 
such limited duration, that we had after a 
lapse of a few years to petition for a ctm- 
tinuance of her fiivour.* 

By the English act of 1705,f it was 
made lawful to lade " in English built ships, 
navigated according to law, any white or 
brown cloth, and no atker^ of the manufac- 
ture of Ireland, and to tnmsport the same to 
her Majesty's plantations." This act was 
so framed as to enable them to exclude all 
linens noc coming under the doiomination 
of white or brown ; and we find that a con- 
struction was put on it, "excluding all 
linens chequered, or striped, or painted, or 
coloured, although such chequered and 
striped linens were principally in demand 
in the plantations."]; The term during 
which we were permitted, by the provisions 
of this act, to trade with the colonies, was 
eleven years ; but it was '' graciously ex- 
tended for one year more by the 1st 
George I. chap. 26. 

The much vaunted encouragement, there- 
fore, which England gave to our linen trade 
by this statute, (and, be it remembered, that 
any encouragement she afterwards afforded 
was little more than a renewal of this act,} 
amounted to this— ^l permission to export to 
her plantations for a limited period one class 
of our linens, whereas she excluded that 
description of linens which would have 
afforded most profit, as being principally 
in demand, being of higher value, and afford- 
ing a greater and more varied amount of 

* See Conmions Joomal, vol. it p. 66Hm 

19 and 4 Anne, chap. viii. England. 
Cvmmeos Journal, vol. xvL 390. 



HISTOBT OF THE LIKEN TRADE. 



165 



employment But e?en in this temporary 
encouragement, monopoly shewed, its cloven 
foot; for " English built ships" only could 
be used in the trade: and even these should 
be " navigated according to law," which 
means not by Irishmen,* 

Thus was it that England evinced her 
anxiety to give to Ireland ''all the advan- 
tage " of the linen trade. But we find in 
her statute book more direct evidence of her 
want of fjBAih, than this negative breach of 
the treaty would imply. By a bill passed 
by her Conoonons in 1711,t a duty ot £\5 
per cent, was levied " upon all chequered 
and striped linens, and upon all linens 
printed, painted, stained, or dyed, after the 
manufacture, or in the thread or yam before 
the manufacture, in any foreign parts, which 
at any time shall be imported into Great Bri- 
tain." This act had a very injurious effect 
upon Ireland ; ^ for depending on the assur- 
ances of King, Lords, and Commons, the 
Irish people betook themselves to the 
linen manufacture, and their linens being 
for the most part proper for staining, stamp- 
ing, and printing, a great part of them were 
employea in that way."f And though Irish 
linens were not named in the bill, they were 
nevertheless subjected to the duty under the 
statute: thus were ''the people of this 
kingdom, in this particular, considered as 
foreigners and aliens."^ 

IVL-. Dobbs, speaking of the gain Eng- 
land enjoyed by not allowing us to export 
our painted and striped linens either to her 
colonies, or to her home markets, thus 
writes : — *' The profit England gains upon 
the linen and linen-yam, as it is improved 
there by working and stamping, since we 
cannot export it striped or stained with 
colours, or with any other mixture, is so 
far a monopoly. Upon the Irish linens, 
that they stamp or stain, they gain lOd. per 
yard profit at least, when stamped or stained : 
their gain uDon it thenis £147/^00 yearly/* § 

One would have imagined that the people 
of England had, by this act, sufficiently re- 
stricted our trade '* and enriched" themselves; 
such, however, was not their opinion, and 
they accordm^y petitioned parliament, com- 
plaming of the continued use of printed and 
stained linens, and praying for their total 
disuse* A conmuttee was appointed, to 

* ADdenen's History ni Commerce, toL zL p. 
661. 

t loth Anne^ e. la. See Statutes of the Bealm, 
vol. ix. p. 610. 

t Bepresentation of Tmstees to George L 
1719. 

f Eitigr on the Trade of Ireland, p. 6»-8. 



whom the several petitions were referred, 
together with the representation of our 
linen Board, the purport of which was to 
shew that " there being no prospect of any 
other market for those linens which were then 
stained, in case the use of them should be 
prohibited in Great Britain, the hands em- 
ployed in them must stand idle."* The 
committee, after some deliberation, resolved 
that the use of all '' printed, painted, stained, 
and dyed linens, except such as are of the 
growth and manufacture of Great Britain 
and Ireland, be prohibited." But we find 
that this resolution was not unanimous, for 
some of the members of that august body, 
more English than the rest, proposed as an 
amendment, that the word Ireland be 
omitted ; the amendment was, however, ne- 
gatived, f 

This was not the practical interpretation 
England adopted for the word encourage- 
ment, when applied to her woollen manufac- 
ture. In that instance she interpreted it as 
meaning the putting a stop to all rivalry on 
the part of Ireland, by prohibiting the im- 
port of Irish woollens, and making it penal 
ti^ export them to foreign countries. But 
when Irish trade was to be legislated for— - 
another, and, as we have seen, a far different 
interpretation was given. Encouragement, 
applied to Ireland, if interpreted by the 
English Statute Book, means tolenUion. 

Neither did England observe more scra- 
pulously the other condition of the compact, 
to wit, her undertaking not to encourage a 
linen manufacture at home, to rival us. 
On the contrary, she used every means in 
her power to increase and extend her linen 
trade to the prejudice of ours. Anderson, 
with reference to this, says, — ^* But, how- 
ever solemnly this compact might be ob- 
served by Ireland, the truth was, that Eng- 
land earned on the linen manufacture to 
full as great an extent as Ireland, while the 
monimoly of the woollens remained totally 
with England."]: By an act of her parlia- 
ment, in 1716,§ purporting to be another 
'* gracious encouragement," it was cove- 
nanted that we might continue to export our 
white and brown linens to the plantations, 
under the former restrictions, ** so long as 
the merchants and other persons of Great 
Britain were permitted to import into Ire- 
land, free of all duties, such white and brown 



* English Commons Joamal, voL xU. p. 237. 
t Ibid, p. 268, see CommoDB Journal, vol. zv. p. 
393. 
1 History of Commerce, voL v. p, 383. 
§ Srd. Geofve L, obap. 26, Eaf Und 



IM 



BUnOBT OV JBM USOBH TBAIMk 



Brittth linen doth as ahoold be made and 
nann&ctored in Gieat Britain.*' Thua, be« 
iare nineteen years £rom the completion of 
the eontracty we find England exdudins 
aome of our linens from her markets^ and 
demanding free admission to ours^for an ar- 
ticle which she was bound not to rival us in, 
by the terms of an agreement proposed, 
drawn up, and forced i^n us by herself. 
Our parliament was, however, constrained 
to acquiesce in these exactions, and, in 1717, 
passed an act, throwing open our markets to 
the white and brown linens of ^nsland, free 
from all duties whatsoever.* Aud by a 
subsequent act, Enffliah cambrics, lawns, 
towelling, '* and all Imens painted or stained 
in England," even if of foreign manufric- 
tnre, were admitted duty free.f By the 
Idth and 16th George II. chapter 29, 
bounties were granted on the export of Eng- 
lish linens, which were increased to nearly 
double their original amount by the 18th of 
George II. chap. 25. In both cases they 
were extended to Irish linens, if exported 
frmn England. The available bounty, how- 
ever, on Irish linens, though nominally the 
same as that on English, was on an average 
£S yet cent, the remainder being absorbed 
by the expense of freight, commission, &c. ; 
whereas, that on English linens was about 
£12, from which there were no deductions. 

The grsnting a bounty on the export of 
English hnens was, we contend, a most fla- 
gnnt violation of the treaty ; nay, more, the 
exporting them at aU was a breach of that 
clause which reciprocally bound the two na- 
tionsr-— the one to refrain from the woollen, 
the other from the linen manuiJEu^ture. And 
when we remember, that on represen- 
tation having been made to the English 
house, by the woollen manufacturers of Eng- 
land, that aome Irish speculators continued 
to export woollens illicitly, an act was passed 
placing under commission eleven armed 
ships, to cruise off our coast, and " take, bum, 
or otherwise destroy," any ships which were 
found carrying Irish woollens :{ what 
terms, sufficienUy strong, can we find where- 
with to characterise the utter want of faith 
which England evinced on this occasion. 
That the extension of the bounty to Irish 
linens had a beneficial effect on our trade 
we mean not to deny ; while at the same 
time we affirm, that had the boimty not been 
granted on the linens of either country, we 
would have advanced with more proportion- 

* 4th George I., chap, 6. 

t 17th Gecffge IL, cbip. L 

t 6th Gsisve H. dMpw ai, Eoglaad. 



ate nqpidity ; and that En(|^d*a artendwig 
the bounty to oar produce is nopaUiation of 
her guih in thus violating what an honour" 
aUe nation would look upon aa the mo^ sa- 
cred of oUigations. 

The first bounty was granted in 1743, 
and the quantity of Irish Hnen, eatpcftted 
from England, which received bounty m that 
year, was 40,907 yards. From year to yew 
the quantity increased, till, in 1773, it 
amounted to 2,832,246 yards. But the sta* 
tistics of the export of English hneoa during 
the same period, give the foUowing very 
different ratio of increase : — 

EogliBh linens which received bounty ydi. 

in 1743 «.... fi9;779 

Bo. iBi773 ft,a3a,aaa 

Thus we find that, to use the words of 
the English Board of trade, this ** system 
of linen bounties had been the means of 
forwarding an extensive linen manufacture 
in England."* In perfect keming with this 
was the chartering of the British Linen 
Company, for the express purpose of sup- 
plying ** Britigh linens " to the plantations. 
This company had their charter signed on 
the 5th July, 1746, and through its instru- 
mentality the rival manufacture in Scotland, 
as well as England, was greatly advanced. t 
Let us now enquire whether better faith 
was kept, with regard to the encourage- 
ment of the hempen manufacture. The 
proposal made in the speech of the Lords 
Justices in 1698, concludes with the as- 
surance, that the hempen manufacture would 
" not only be encouraged as consistent with 
the trade of England ;'* but that its being 
established here as the staple would ** ren- 
der the trade of this kingaom both useful 
and necessary to England." More explicit 
they could not well be : not only is the as- 
surance of encouragement given, out motives 
of self-interest, on the part of England, are 
urged, as arguments against the probability 
of her at any future period breaking through 
the treaty. Relying upon this. Vie Irish 
Parliament passed several bills for die en- 
couragement of the hempen manu&cture, 
and expended large sums in its improve- 
ment It is important to observe that when- 
ever a bill was brought in for the improvement 
of either the linen or hempen manufacture, 
they were both included in its title — thus 
incidentally shewing that they were both 
considered as included in the terme of the 
compact We have seen that in legislating 

* Beport to Lord's ComaiittM, 17$1. 
t Anderson's Historr of Commerce, voL ilL fp. 
529, 574. 



BOREOST tUB ^SX MJSHBK ^llAfiK* 



167 



for these inwwifiM'U n^^ prommns were 
giented on tbe import of liempHseed two 
^^^eexs prior to tbeir being gnmted on the 
isoport of flax-seed — ^that the manufactnre 
of aaikloth was encooiaged by a bounty 
being granted on its export at so early a 
period as 1707 : that the trustees were re- 
quired by the act of incorporation to expend 
one-half the sum placed at their disposal 
in the impiDvement of the hempen mann- 
facture, shewing clearly the great importance 
attached to it, and that it was considejied to 
possess equal claims on the legislature. 

The bounty given mi the export of sail- 
doth by the 6& Anne, chap, ix.,* was in- 
creased to twice its former amount by the 
8th Anne, chap, xii^f and was extended by 
1st George II. chap. iL{ " to all sail-dodb 
used in ship furniture/' and by 9th George 
II, chap. iy.§ to sail-cloth made for home 
consumj^on. We do not refer to those 
acts with tbe intent of detailing all that has 
been done with a view to its increase. It 
would be both tedious and unprofitable as 
regards our object to refer seriatim to the 
many enactments which the trustees had re- 
source to : enough has been done to shew 
that great eums of money must have been 
spent in the improvement and extension of 
this trade, on the laith of its being protected 
and encouraged by England. The sum ex- 
pended onitand the tinen manufocture from 
the appointment of the Linen Board to the 
year 1760 is computed at half a million ;|| 
beinff a quarter of a million for the hempen. 
We learn from the iep<»t of the committee 
of 1772, that under the encouragement thus 
affordedf ''the hempen manufacture so iar 
flourished that the inhabitants of this king- 
dom ^d in a great measure supply them- 
selves with hemp of their own growth, and 
were enabled to export great quantities of 
sail-doth firom this kingdom.**^ 

This itoi the condition of the hempen 
manufocture of Ireland. Let us now see 
how much truth is in the assertion, that we 
are indebted to the encouragement of Eng- 
land for the progress which it made. She 
promised us encouragement *tis true; but 
we do not anticipate much difficulty in con- 
vincbtg the candid enquirer, that instead of 
owing anght to England for the extent 
which this trade attained, the very reverse is 
the case, and that we have too much reason 

* Statutes, vol. iv., p. 13S. 

Ibid. vd. iv. p. 240. 

IbkL voL V. p. 233. 

Ibid. vol. iv. p. 187. 
{ CommonB' Journal, vol. xv« 4S0. 
<j Commons' Jwrnal, yel* XfL p* 99L 



to feel that when the trade fiomUnd, it did 
80 in opposition to her rivalry, and tint 
though in striving to retain it we maintained 
against her a long and expensive atruggle^ 
En^and finally triumphed in its overtbww. 

By the 12th Anne, chap. xii. which was 
entitled ''an act for the better encourage- 
ment of the making of sail-cloth in Great 
Britain," one penny bounty was gnmtod 
on evezy ell " of BrUuk mum sail clotii or 
canvass fit for or made into sails, which after 
the 21st July, 1713, shall be exported out of 
Great Britm."* By another bOl it was 
enacted, ''that every ship or veasd Which 
shall be built in Great Britain, and in 
his majesty's plantations in America, shafl, 
before her first setting out or being first 
navigated, have or be furmshed with one 
full and complete set of new sails, made of 
sail-cloth manufaciur$d in Great Britam, 
under the penalty of £60 on the master of 
the ship or veBsel."f 

This act affords a lair sample of the man- 
ner in iriiich England redeemed the pledge 
die had given to encourage the hempen manu- 
fiuTture of Ireland, and not to foster a rival 
one. By it a severe check was given to 
our sail-cloth manufacture ; but &e final 
blow was stnick in 1750 by tiie English 
act, 23rd George II, chap. — whereby a 
doty of foor pence per yard was inmosed 
on the import of Irish sail-doth ot Ihe 
value of fourteen pence per yard, and two 
pence per yard for any under that value. 
" In consequence of which,'* to use the 
words of the report already referred to, " the 
Irish, apprehensive of new dis c ouragement, 
did totally abandon the culture of hemp, 
and are thereby obliged now (1772) to im- 
port annually at a medium to the amount of 
£21,777 value [of sail-cloth] instead of 
supp}3ring themselves, which ^ey fonneriy 
did.^' These were die "dragon's teeth," the 
sowing of which England so bitteriy re- 
pented of when their unexpected firuit had 
ripened. 

So much has been said and written to 
prove that the prosperity which the linen 
trade of Ireland had enjoyed, was omne to 
the "liberal encouragement" it met from 
the English legislature during the period 
that intervened between the sealing of that 
treaty, whereby the nation's wealth was 
handed over to the stranger by an aristo- 
cratic and iiresponsible parliament, consti- 
tnted not of Irish representatives, but of 
English nominees, and that bright spot m 

* Statutes of the Reahn, vol. ix. p. 761. 
1 1901 Qeerge 11, ehap. t7, bg; 



168 



HUfTOBT OF THB UNBN TRADE. 



our histofy, whose brilliancy but serves to 
make the ** darkness visible/'-^that we 
deemed it of the last importance to investi- 
gate that portion of its history with the ut- 
most care. We have now laid before our 
readers the results of our enquiry, and we 
doubt not but a careful consideration of the 
facts we have placed before their view, will 
force upon them as it has on us, the convic- 
tion that to England we owe nodiing of that 
prosperity. 

Those to whose ears " British honour" and 
the like imposing phrases are familiar, may 
have rested satisfied on seeing that England 
bound herself by solemn compact to encourage 
our linen and hempen manufacture ; relying 
on her assumed title to " integrity," they 
may have deceived themselves into the 
belief that it must have been so, since British 
faith was pledged thereto. But let such 
credulous admirers look to the few &cts we 
have adduced ; let them look to that compact 
unheeded for seven years; our people forced 
into idleness, or driven from their native 
hmd to seek in exile that pennission ''to 
labour for their bread in that state of life unto 
which it had pleased God to call them," 
which English laws deprived thein of at 
home; let them look to the manner in which 
England affected to fulfil her treaty; let 
them see her after a few short years, ut- 
terly disregarding that treaty, setting up a 
rival manufacture, and by prohibitoiy laws, 
putting down that which she voluntarily 
bound herself to protect; let them do this, 
and then talk of British honour. 

In endeavouring to give the details con- 
nected with this period, with a degree of 
fulness which though fiur from being com- 
mensurate with its importance, is somewhat 
greater than perhaps we should have done, 
had we in time measured our space, we have 
left ourselves very little room for the details 
of its subsequent history. We cannot, how- 
ever, omit to notice the unanswerable arsu- 
nient which the statistics of our exports fur- 
nish, that the extension of the manufiu:ture 
was attributable to the domestic— 4iot the 
foreign legislation. 

In referring to statistical evidence, we 
do not accidentally $elect that year which 
has placed opposite to it the precise amount 
of figiues, which would best suit a purpose. 
Truth, not purpose, being our object, we 
nught take any year, or every year, included 
within the respective periods, and find in 
the comparative value of each, sufficient data 
whereon to maintain the position we uphold. 
That we may not, however, give any cause 
of complaint to those querulous gainsayers 



of facts, (who, ever willing to use statii^cs 
when they^ndf them to suit, are as ready 
when they are found not to suit, to fling them 
overboard, as ''mere figures which prove 
nothing,") we will give the results of an 
average of years, as our space will not per- 
mit of our giving the results of each year. 

From the returns made, we find, by tak- 
ing the average of the seven years, com- 
mencing 1747, and ending 17d3, that the 
quantity of linen exported firom Ireland in 
1750 may be stated at 10,427,494$ yards ; 
by a like computation the quantity exported 
in 1780 was 19,3l8,654f. This would 
give an actual increase in the enioTt, of 
8,891,159} during the thirty years whidi in- 
tervened ; whereas the actual amount at the 
termination of fifteen years firom the deda- 
ration of independence, taking the aTerage 
of seven years, was 43^24,21 1 1, being an 
increase of 24,205,556$. It thus appears 
that when left to ourselves we increased the 
trade threefold more in fifben^ than "the ai- 
eaurt^jfemmW of England had done in 
thirty years. 

There is another point connected with 
this period, worthy of attention. It is the 
difference in the duties which were deter- 
mined in 1784, on linen goods redprocally 
imported from Ireland and Eng^d. 

Baty payable in Ireland on^ 

British linen and cotton > 

mixed, per £100 Ttlue 3 
Do. on British linens printed? 

or stained ) 

Duty on Irish linen and cot- ^ 

ton, mixed, imported into> S9 15 10 

£n^land ... ... ... 3 

Bo. on Irish linen printed or) g. .^ j^^ 

stwned ... • ••• 3 

From these duties it would rather appear 
that Ireland was bound not to rival the Imen 
manufacture of England, than that England 
was bound to promote and encourage hers. 
Still we have seen, that notwithstanding 
these fearful odds, our trade increased dur- 
ing the years of independence, with a rapi- 
dity almost unprecedented. 

We did not, however, long enjoy the ad- 
vantages whidi the unanimity of '82 had 
won for our long enthralled country. The 
national enthusiasm of the day suppressed 
for a time the sectarian strife, whidi the 
policy of party so assiduously fostered and 
inflamed. The master spirits of the age 
aroused the nublic mind ; and, public atten- 
tion being directed towards the attainment 
of nationsd rights, the Catholics of Ireland 
generously forgot their individual wrongs, 

* Neweiiliam*8 Viow, p. 107. 



9 16 ft 



9 18 ft 



HUrrOBT OF TRB LINEN TRAOK. 



169 



and joined the dominaiit sect in freeing 
their common country fix>m alien legislation. 
This object being effected^ Catholic aid was 
no longer courted^ and subsequent events 
proved that party spirit had been laid aside 
but for a season. The young nation had 
hitherto grown and thriren apace, but it was 
yet a child, '' and thought as a child." How- 
ever, even in its childhood symptoms of ap- 
proaching maturi^ evinced themselves : the 
principles of religious equali^ were widely 
promulgated, concessions were being made, 
and the majority of the people already felt 
that they too had rights as well as duties. 
The crisis of nationhood was evidently at 
hand, and the enemies of Irish freedom, see- 
ing that the last opportunity for a successful 
straggle was passmg away, set all their 
energies to the work of hate, and so effectu- 
ally succeeded in exciting the worst passions 
of the dominant party, that liberty of con- 
science yet remamed an ungranted boon. 
Faith was still the measure of political free- 
dom, and sectarian animosity again showed 
itself in all its wonted virulence. Again dis- 
united, we fell an easy prey to the common 
enemy ; and in the day of our unhappy dis- 
senaons we were deprived of the right of 
self-rule, which eighteen years before ''no 
power on earth " dared to dispute. 

Our young hopes were thus blighted as in 
the early bud, and we once more sank into 
a province— helpless and dependant on the 
encouragement of England. The royal 
speech no longer commended the linen trade 
of Ireland to me care of the legislative body. 
Imperial legislators required not, forsooth, to 
have their attention speciaUy called to Ire- 
land — ^now an integral portion of the British 
empire! That "giant stride prosperity" 
did not result from the new constitution, 
none will now dispute. We were promised 
that increase of trade, commerce, and manu- 
factures, would flow as the necessary conse- 
quence of united-wisdom legislation. As re- 
gards this trade, at least, a comparison of 
the progressive increase during the few years 
of hberty which followed '82, and the years 
during which the act of 1800 was carried in- 
to more perfect operation, would lead to no 
yery fiivouraUe opinion of a measure which 
umted in council men who had no unity of in- 
terest. 

The effect of fifteen years' independence 
was to increase the manufactured exports to 
one-fourth more than double their former 
amount. Let us place in juxtaposition the 
efiect of twenty-three years of Westminster le- 
gislation, and we will perceive that the exports 
have not increased since 1800 in the im* 



perial ratio which some would have us be- 
lieve they should have done. 

The avenge annual export of the 

fouryean endhig 1796, was 44,321,460} 

The average of the four yean ending 

1823, was 44,212,836i 

We intended entering at some length on 
the details of the proceedings of the Linen 
Board— we however are precluded by our 
limits, which we the less regret, as there are 
veiy few who have not within their reach 
ample information on that point. They 
liberally encouraged by premiiuns and loans^ 
all improvements in machineiy, and every 
excellence either in culture or manufacture. 
No pains were spared to encourage and 
create linen markets in the different rural 
districts ; having first created a supply, they 
then erected the market; thus taldng the 
most effectual means of encouragiug in- 
dustry among the masses of the people. 
The Linen Board did not long survive the 
Irish Parliament. The terms of the Act of 
Union bound the Imperial legislature to con« 
tinue the annual grant to the Board. The 
committee of '26 recommended its continu- 
ance, though appointed with the full inten- 
tion of giving a different counsel. But 
the advice wished for, though not given, 
was followed: half the grant was imme- 
diately withdrawn, and the remainder shared 
the same fate in the following year. 

Let us now enquire into the present con* 
dition of the traoe, and that of the opera- 
tives who are engaged in it. To us, the lat- 
ter appears to oe the most important part 
of the question ; for what does it profit the 
nation if an extensive manu&ctuier engaged 
in a trade in this country, and, it may be, 
preparing to retire to, if not already residing 
in, another, can by means of the ill paid la- 
bour of the artizan, realise a considenible 
fortune — ^if the men whom he employs, and 
the fiunilies who depend on them for support^ 
be in a state little removed from beggary. 
The accumulation of capital is a ffood thing 
for the individual who accumulates; but 
when that capital ceases to be a circulating 
capital, its benefit to the community is lost. 
Our politico-economical creed applied to 
manufacturers, would teach us that tne pros- 
perity of a manufacture, and its claims to be 
accounted as a national one, should be mea- 
sured not so much by the quantity of the 
fabric produced, as by the amount of remu- 
nerative employment it afibrded, and that 
its profit to the nation should be counted 
great, rather because it afforded the neces- 
saries and comfprts of life to a maltitade of 



170 



BXfTOBT OF THB LTKMH TRADB. 



aitizanSf llian that it poured luxury into the 
lap of a few employers.. 

Owing to the trade between Ireland and 
England haying been placed on the footing 
of coasting trade smce the year 182^5^ there haa 
been no registry kept of the quantity of linen 
exported to England syice that time. We 
wiH^ therefore, not be able to place before our 
readers the state of the export trade from 
that period to the present, with the same 
arithmetical preciaion as we have its prior 
condition. We can, however, produce 
authentic statements in attestation of the 
well known fact that it has been rapidly de- 
clining ; for though the high sounding i^pd- 
lation of '' transition state " may be applied 
by some political economists to its present 
condition ; we, simpler folk, not being fur- 
nished with these imperial patent niecs, such 
as Commissioners wear, can see in that transi* 
tion nothing but the forerunner of dissolu- 
tion and decay. 

That we do not exaggerate the evils we 
deplore, will be seen by examining seriatim 
the different localities once famous for the 
extent to which this trade was carried on — 
and comparing their past and present condi* 
tion, with reference to the quantity of linens 
manufactured, and the prosperity, we were 
about to say, of those engaged in ^e manu- 
facture, for the recollection of by-gone days 
is still fredi in our memory. But the pros- 
perity of the linen wearer is no more, and 
if the word were now applied to his con- 
dition, it would but seem as if used in scorn- 
ful derision to remind him of what he once 
had been. 

The report of the hand-loom weavers' 
commissioners says, that '' the state of the 
linen trade in the west and south of Ire- 
land, where it had been established, is not 
in genera] dissimilar from the state of the 
Hade in the county of Sligo ;" and on refer- 
ing to their report from Sligo, we find not 
only that the ** transition " state has set in, but 
that the change has already been perfected. 
The state in which the trade e^cists in this 
county, being gi^en as a fair specimen of its 
condition in the southern and western dis- 
tricts,is of too much importance to be omitted. 
** Here I found m&Kly the traces of a Hnen 
manufacture ; the linen hall, of considenble 
extent, was hired out as a general warehouse, 
and hardly a single web was presented for 
sale. On what teere the linen market days a 
few spinners stiU hawk hand-spun yam 
through the streets, but both the quantity 
and quality of the yam offered for sale is 
utterly msignificant. Mr. Roger O'Han, 
Seal Master, and keeper of pert of what wifl 



the linen hall, says that 'the linen hall 
is now turned to otaer purposes; it belongs 
to the hotel keeper. I am eighteen years 
here ; when I first came there were firom 400 
to 000 webs sold here eveiy week* There 
was also a linen market in CoUoony, (five 
miles firom this,) and 100 to 150 webs sold 
weekly ; there is not a single web lirou^t 
for sale there now. The number of webs 
sold here has been progressivdy falling off 
for the last fifteen years. On last Saturday 
there was only one web offisred for sale. Thu 
market is gone."* 

Is this, then, the state in which we should 
expect to find the linen markets of Cork, 
Clare, Limerick, Keny, Galway, Mayo, 
andLeitrim? The annual value of linen alcme 
sold in these markets in the year 1817, was 
Cork, £46,736 ; Clare, £2,080 ; Limerick, 
£3,640; Keny, £10,400; Sligo, £3l;200; 
Galway, £10,254; Mayo, £81,640; Lei- 
trim, £4,680 ?t But who received all tiiese 
sums ? — ^the proprietors of a few large mann- 
factoriesy who sent their quarterly profits to 
tiie young misses at some Eng^lhdi boarding 
school, or supplied from them the extiava- 
gant expenditure of a roui son, whose life 
was spent in Continental dissipation ? No ; it 
was received bv '* the independent class o( 
weavers, who tormeriy made up linen on 
their own account, but who mi^ now be said 
to be extinct." { But it did not remain long 
with them ; within one hour the greater part 
was laid out in the purchase of ywra. for the 
next week's web; the gunner purchased 
a fipesh supply of flax, and the cottier's 
family, who prepared that flax, having 
received the reward of their industiy, 
returned home with blithsome and merry 
hearts to renew their toil, well knowing thttt 
the '' next market day" would bring with it 
a similar reward. You proud and haughty 
ones, who taunt our people with being fine- 
quenters of fair and market, why so ignorant 
of your own nature P or think you tint with 
riches the CreatcHr has given you feelings 
and affections other than those which we 
also possess P Know you not that, with a 
sort of instinctive desire, we all love to resort 
to those places, where happiness was wont to 
be found, even though the cause of that hap- 
piness has fled. Why then rebuke us, if idle, 
because bereft of our employment, it delights 
us to visit snd revisit that village, that town, 
that market-place, where we were accustomed 



* Report P. iiL p. 650. 

t Minutes of Trustees of linen manufftcture , 

1B17, p. 70. 
f Rcpoit. 



BurroBT OP not unen tbjide. 



171 



again and again to reap the fruit of honest 
toil« and have our hearts cheered hy the 
assurance that we laboured not in vain. 
While we wiite of these things, the busy scene 
of a linen market in a country town seems 
as if re-enacted before us ; the inhabitants 
of the surrounding neighbourhood assembled, 
all dressed in their best clothes ; the inde- 
pendent weaver carrying his web to the 
hall — the fanner's wife waiting his return 
to sell her yarn — the farmer himself await- 
ing the close of the market, well knowing 
his commodities would in their turn meet 
purchasers ; each and all occupied in some 
traffic, and at the close of the day returning 
to their homes, having purchased, with the 
profits of the past week's labour, the neces- 
saries for the ensiung week, and some few of 
the luxuries too. 

The recent publication of the poor law 
reports, has mude the distressed condition 
of the poor in the west of Ireland a matter 
of such public notoriety, that wo thought 
it incumbent on us to make more minute 
enquiry into the state of this trade in that 
locality. We, accordingly, lay before our 
readers, the iu formation which has been 
kindly afforded us, by mercantile gentlemen 
of the first respectability and rank, in the 
principal market towns oV that district. 

" The number of webs sold in Ballinrobe 
weekly about twenty yeai's ago, was from 
80 to 100 : the number sold at present is 
from 4 to 6 per week. The quantity of flax- 
seed sold in the season was from 140 to 150 
hhds. about twenty yeai's ago, at present from 
8 to 10." The correspondent, from whoso 
letter we extract the above, confined himself 
to the period refeiTed to in our queries. The 
statistical tables of Moreau, however, show 
that for the four or five years immediately 
succeeding 1820, the linen trade of Ballin- 
robe increased very rapidly. From them 
we find, that during the year ending 1825, 
the sum of £38,576 was expended in that 
town, in the purchase of Brown Linens.* " In 
the town of BalHna the number of webs sold 
weekly in the year 1825, was about 350, and 
the quantity of yam abput 3000 spangles. 
The average number of webs now sold 
( 1840) is 8, and the number of spangles 
of yam is reduced to 300.'* In the year 
J 825, there were £15,472 expended iu the 
purchase of linens in the village of Clare- 
uiorris.+ There were then 40 weavers 
residing in the town, exclusive of those in 
the neighbourhood— "thero are now only two, 

* Moreaa*8 Tables, p. 37-36 
flbld. 

VOL. III. NO. XVII. 



who work very hard and live miserably. 
There is not one web sold in Claremorris 
throughout the year ; tlie few made by the 
weavers before mentioned are sent to Castle- 
bar for sale. At one period there used to be 
200 hhds. of flaxseed sold in the season in 
this market, now there are not mora than 
50 to 55." 

From a communication ^vitli which we 
have been favoured, by one of the most 
respectable and extensive merchants iu 
Westj)ort, whose family has been intimately 
connected with the trade of- that town for the 
last fifty years, and to whose enterprizing 
spirit much of its present commercial im- 
portance is due ; we extract the following :*- 
" In the year 1821 there were 500 webs sold 
weekly in this market; in 1823, from 500 
to 600 weekly; in 1824 and 1825, the 
same; there are not now more than 150 
sold weekly. With respect to the sale of 
flaxseed: in 1821 there were 2000 hhds. 
sold; in 1823, 1824 hhds.; in 1826, 2514 
hhds. ; these sales have been by two houses 
in the trade at the lime — our sales this year 
have not exceeded 500 hhds."* 

The statistics received from Castlebar 
are of the last importance, when viewed 
in connection with the fact, that it has been 
for the last six or seven years the principal 
linen market of Mayo. "The average 
number of webs sold weekly, from 1833 
to 1837, was about 500 ; the average num- 
ber sold from '37 to '40, was about 300." 

But it is not alone in the South and West 
that the linen trade has decreased. In the 
North of Ireland, which was its cradle, and 
where in its decline it appears to have retired, 
as we hope, not to expire, but to recruit its 
strength — the decrease is too well marked. 
At Dungannon, which was one of the first 
Brow^n Markets in the province, and where 
the finest description oi cloth was produced, 
we find, in the language of the report, that 
" the linen trade had greatly declined, and 
that while the old system had been passing 
away, the new mode of manufacture had not 
been proportionally introduced, and that a 
great number of the linen weavers had turned 
their attention to other pursuits."f 

Of Strabane, which was celebrated as the 
yam market for the counties of Tyrone and 
Donegal, and to which a great quantity was 
sent from Down, Armagh, Deny, Ferma- 
nagh, Cavan, Monaghan, &c. &c. it is said 
''this trade is almost at an end." The 
quantity of linen sold in it has also greatly 

* Date Nov. 4th, 1840. 
t Beport, p. 648. 



172 



HISTORY OE THE LIKEN TRADE. 



decreased. Strabane had its 800 inde- 
pendent weavers, who brought their 1,000 
webs, weekly, for sale. But, " from 1830 
the trade among the weavers as manu- 
facturers, began rapidly to decrease, and 
they were forced in a great measure to go 
out of the trade, and there is not now more 
than one tenth the number of webs made 
uj) by the weavers, for the Brown Market, 
that used to be,"* The state of the linen 
weavers of Drogheda presents a spectacle 
of human misery, which to those unac- 
quainted with the privations, which the 
^vreck of a manufacture is sure to bring 
upon the operatives engaged in it, is beyond 
conception. 

The large manufacturers, who employed 
from 100 to 200 weavers each, were obliged 
to lower their wages to meet the competition 
of the English and Scotch, and eventually 
lefl the trade. The small manufacturers 
were obliged to lower them still further, for 
not being able to make such extensive sales, 
they could not take the same rate of profit. 
The effect of this competition, which resulted 
from the ''assunilation " system, is that ''the 
wives and children of the wearers endea- 
vour to add to their means by begging 
contributions of potatoes or meal." The 
cabins that they live and work in are de- 
scribed as " fearful specimens of what habit 
will enable a human being to endure." f 

Banbiidge forms an exception to the 
many towns from which we have seen re- 
ports. Here the trade appears not to have 
diminished in the same proportion as it has 
in other parts of the country. Mr. Dtmbar, 
an extensive employer, says, '' I have seen 
the linen trade brisker, but never in a more 
healthy and promising condition, consider- 
ing it is only recovering." In this district, 
however, the trade has passed into the hands 
of large capitalists. D. Lindsay, J. P. says, 
" I commenced to manufacture ten years 
ago, in place of buying up linen, because I 
thought it would be more profitable : I found 
it so, and have made much more money by 
manufacturing than I did by buying and 
bleaching. There is not one weaver now in 
a hundred in this district, who weaves on his 
own account. In the early part of my life, 
almost all the linen was made up by weavers 
on their own accotmt. The introduction 
of millspun yam, and the system of credit 
and banking accommodation, drove the trade 
out of the hands of the weavers and small 
manufacturers, and placed it in the hands of 

* Beport, p. 649, Ertdcnce of Blr. Guynne. 
t Beport, pp. 627, 626. 



large manufacturers and capitalists. There 
were fewer inferior weavers then than there 
are at present The superior weavers are not 
as well paid as they were when they worked 
for themselves ; but there is vastly more weav- 
ing than there was." This, then, is the state 
of the trade in Banbridge, where it is said 
par excellence t to flourish. 6 ut, if we analyse 
its condition, instead of resting satisfied 
with a superficial glance; in what do we 
find the prosperity to consist? Why, 'tis 
simply this : — ^the hundred small manufac- 
facturers, who once employed their tens and 
twentys, or it might be their two or three 
'' superior weavers," have given place to the 
few large capitalists, who employ their hun- 
dreds of " inferior weavers." And that while 
the small capitalists are crushed and beg- 
gared — ^the artizan is ill paid — and his de- 
pendents but one degree removed from 
starvation. The large capitalist is amassing 
still larger sums, diat he may aiistocxa- 
dze his family by that wealth, which in a 
more healthy state of the trade, would 
have spread itself over a more extended 
siuface, and established an independent 
middle class. 

The remuneration received by the opera- 
tive has fallen with his independence. In 
Drogheda " the net receipt of the weaver 
averages from 3s. 4d. to 5s. a week." The 
evidence from Deny draws a contrast be- 
tween the former and present state of the 
weaver, which we copy for its forcible sim- 
plicity. 

'< There is a great difiference in respect 
of the appearance of the weavers who 
come to market, now and formerly : they are 
not so well drest, nor nearlv so comfortable 
looking — the men are older-looking — the 
fine sturdy young men who once came to 
market, luive now gone out of the trade, and 
many have emigrated to America. I re- 
member when it was the best occupation in 
Ireland ; now it is gone to nothing."* 

The appearance (as well as the condition) 
of the linen weaver is indeed altered ; he is 
no longer distinguished from the unem- 
ployed labourer, by the respectability of his 
dress. The air of comfort which once sur- 
rounded his dwelling has passed away, and 
no longer does the white-washed cottage, 
with its neatly trimmed thatch, annoimce to 
the toturist that he is passing through a linen 
district 

It may be said in reply to all these evi- 
dences of deca^, that large manufactories 
have sprung up, and that thereby the decline 

* Beport, p, 725. 



THE MEED OF THE MINSTBEL. 



173 



of the country markets is fully compensated 
for : we would answer that the moral condi- 
tion of the people, as well as their physical 
state, was involved in the change; ana even 
had large manufactories produced an equal 
or even greater quantity, the moral detriment 
which necessarily follows the destruction of a 
domestic manufacture, which, like the one un- 
der consideration, had given occupation for the 
otherwise unemployed time of the agricultural 
peasant, would not he compensated hy any 
amount of increase. But it yet remains to 
be proved that the amount manufactured has 
increased. The* total amount of exports of 
late years has not been ascertained ; but if 
we judge from the amount exported to for- 
eign parts, we should conclude that the 
export trade was not increasing. 

Irish Linen exported to foreign parts in 

1820 4,126,340 

1830 3,295,233 

1832 2,884,302 

1834 1,873,854 



The amount of bounty paid on the export 
of Irish and British linens gives a propor- 
tionate value to the Irish trade, by no means 
showing an increase in favoiu: of Ireland. 
The latest return we have been able to refer 
to while preparing for the press, was that of 
1831, which gave the amount paid on Irish 
linens, as £29,738 1 OJ; whereas that on 
British was £123,382 2^.« 

We are aware that many other causes have 
combined to produce decay in this trade 
of late years. To those we w&l more particu- 
larly refer at some future period ; at present, 
we only desire to draw attention to the fact 
of the trade having undergone a complete 
revolution. The causes of that change, and 
the best means of counteracting the evils, and 
profiting by the good which has ensued, 
form an important subject for the future con- 
sideration of the Citizen. 



* Tables of Revenue, Population and Commerce 
of the United Kingdom. Part iiL Page 318, 1834. 



■^»^*MM»^^<MM»rf^#»^M^^«M^»<»#MM»^»rfMMMMWM^ 



THE MEED OF THE MINSTREL. 



LmmI of my home and heart, my finger fpUs 
Weekly upon thy lyre, where other heads 
Had waked entbaaiaam j— thy song enthralla 
Stzmngers, as doth thy tmile thy oatiTe bands ;-^ 
Thy miOesty la soUtnde commands { 
Thy beauty, near the haunts of men ; and where 
Hate hath not flung Its poison o'er thy lands. 
Teeming thy harrest store succeeds the share. 
While peace^ content, and health do bless Uiee also there. 

And ifalmartua glories thou hast lesa 
Than lands lees formed for happiness,— *tis time 
That reason do her privilege redress. 
And teach how eminently peace is sablime. 
Weighing the weight of Tirtoe and of crime : 
For let thy sacrifices be di^layed. 
And ask If men of any age or CUme^ 
Had e'er awaited Right so long delayed. 
Or e'er such thraldom borne with Tirtue undismayed ? 

I notice not tii' indignant throbs that bndce 
The rest of those proud outraged sons of thine/ 
Who at the torrent'nish of blood awoke. 
And fought to wreak the Tengeance of some line— 
The elder or the younger Gcraldine) 
Or him whoee cause is not writ on his tomb, 
Or others.— 1^ they outraged aught dlTlne 
By blood, thy foes have triumphed in their doom. 
Nor lost— unless it be in the stem world to come. 

Lutd of my ihthers, unrefined or sage. 
Am friend or foe the storied ftOnie leaxt,— 
It setts not Mw thy lorer to engage 
In eonteet for thy pride of fonner yearsi 
Hie pages, blotted by thy blood and tears, 



Ne'er make thee seem less beautiful to me i 
Hiou erer art a temple which appears 
New-hewn } or some old treasure of the sea. 
Which daily at the ebb shines forth immortally. 

Boast not Uie past— but struggle for thy right 
Amongst the nations j and when thou hast gained 
The place they owe to thee, and when— despite 
Of interested hate, and malice strained. 
And slander bought, flrom sire to son sustained 
For many a generation,— thou hast shewn 
The libel fUse on which thou art arraigned j 
Then may the hearts that daim thee as their own— 
And not tUl then— with pride recur to glories fiown. 

aaTe of base tyrants I let thy Toice arise 
Till truth makes silent thy inveterate foe, 
Who, tho* the chain hath burst, doth yet devise 
Tons for Uiy lion heart, and labouieUk so 
With bigotry, that thy best fHends scarce know 
Thy Justice. My soul's life I Land of my sires 1 
Shall they ^11 tread Uiee down, and thou not show 
The lucre which their paltry bteasts Inspires, 
And that thy beauty Is the spring of their desires i 

And they who do malign thee, my loved land ! 
Bcaatifal Mother I— have they not the gold 
The spoiler wrendies firomthee in tiwir hand i 
But tyranny Is bowed, and gray and old. 
And 'gainst the wolf have we built up a fold. 
And for the vulture we have laid a snare. 
And Ihm us we do spurn the folse and eoldj 
And thus we shall new guard thee everywhere. 
Sure that.full tilunpli yet.wlU crown ow filial care. 

2n 



17* 



A PEKP AT PABUI. 



A PEEP AT PARIS.* 



Persuaded that for eleven hours out of 
the twelve^ better ways may be found of 
employing the present, than keening for 
the tomb -ward carried past, or hushoing in 
a dream of anticipative paternity, the as yet 
unborn future, we are not (though consi- 
derably advanced in years) inclined to play 
too frequently the part of laudatores tern- 
poris acti. And yet, after all, the present 
age is {entre nous, dear reader) such a pre> 
cocious puppy, so full of its own exquisite 
importance, so loud in its own praise, so 
blind to its many faults of foolishness or 
fribble inanity, that it sometimes puts us a 
little out of temper. When we note our 
young gentleman at the other end of the 
social board, twisting his mustaches, or ca- 
ressing with a cautious nonchalance his 
overabundant tresses; when we hear his 
small voice, in genteel, short-nipped treble, 
squeaking forth to some mere digestive lis- 
tener the tale of his own achievements, 
our patience gives way, and we cannot help 
crying out, — ^' Son Tom, or nephew Dick, 
whichever of you it is, that's keeping up 
such a clatter, send round the wine, and don't 
make a fool of yourself. Keep your small 
talk for the drawing room, my lad, and don't 
poison the parlour with it. Let there be 
one room in the house, which neither the 
name nor the breath of cigars or civilisation 

shall dare to pollute. I declare" here 

Tom, who is a little afraid of me, with all 
his impudence, spills the wine in his haste 
to obey — and Dick, the malicious ne'er-do- 
well, treads on my favourite spaniel's paw, 
so that the remainder of my objurgation is 
lost in the poor animal's howl of remon- 
strance 

Well, the boys are at length gone up 
stairs ; and as for Tim Brannagan, my wife's 
third cousin, who has come up from the 
county Meath to look after a little law suit 
of his, that he has been so soft or so stub- 
born as to get involved in — he's fast asleep. 
Poor man I he's dead tired, tramping over 
the city, keeping cantankerous witnesses, 
not in good humour, for that were impos- 
sible, but in town, which is just at present 
a matter of some importance ; or hunting 



agent and counsel from one court into ano- 
ther, and back again. I found him in the 
afternoon in the hall of the Four Courts, 
leaning breathless against the gas-woman,* 
and looking each successive minute to a 
different point of the compass, going circuit 
in fiau;t, in a fetshion of his own, round that 
eidolon of ugliness. ''Well, Mr. Bran- 
nagan," said I, '' you appear to be taking 
your ease ; I hope things are going on to 
your satisfaction" — " Taking my ease, sir; 
you never made a greater mistake in your 
life. It's fairly killed I am, this blessed 
day, running all over the town, and here I 
was first better than an hour and a half 
looking for Counsellor O'Flatteral, and 
when I found him — ^what d'ye think, sir P — 
the devil a taste of my brief he had read at 
all — and worse than that, if he had, the 
devil a use in it, for the cause won't come 
on till the day after to-morrow, the court is 
so busy. Well, after that, I went off across 
the water in search of the agent, and back 
again to Dorset -street, and from that to 
James's-street, and from that back here, 
where one of the old women told me he 
was just gone, in a covered car, with two 
other gentlemen, off to Kilmainham ; so I 
gave him up, as a bad bargain, and now I m 
looking out again for the counsellor, and 
resting myself against this bom beauty, with 
the mould-four in her fist. Oh then, sir, 
it's an elegant stone, and a great pity to 
have it thrown away in this overgrown barn 
of a place. Pretty nonsense, indeed ! as if 
an iron pillar wouldn't have done as well for 
the gas to spout from. I wish the big wigs 
would give it to me, I'd put it in one of my 
fields at home, 'twould be such a beantifitl 
stone tor the cows to scratch themselves 
against. That's what nature intended it for, 
and it's neither law nor equity to be keeping 
it here.— '* 'Twould be a proud day for 

* It may be necessary to state for the informa- 
tion of our country readers, and of posterity, that 
the noble hall of our Four Courts is, in the winter 
afternoons, lighted by an unsightly figure in stone 
(of what emblematical we are not prepared to say) 
with a flaring gas-pipe held high in its upUftcd 
hand. — Ed. 



* The Paris Sketch Book. By Mr. Titmarsh. London : Macrone, 1840. 



THE TtTHABSH SKETCH*BOOK. 



175 



701I) Mr. Brannagan^ that 70U carried such 
a prize as that to the country. Why 
'twould be in all the papers : — Eloped Mr. 
Timothy Brannagan with the gas-woman of 
the Four Courts. — What would Mrs. Bran- 

nagan say to it ?** ^«« Oh then, it's small 

reason she'd have, a little woman like her, 
to be jealous of such a giantess. And sure 
it's some recompense I'd be entitled to, 
taking such a trip to town, and learning 
practical geography on the hard flags at my 
time of life, and me such a hi man. I 
hadn't such a hunt since Mrs. Brannagan 
herself, and it's Kitty Molony she was then, 
was a little girl, and hid herself in the 
highest tree in the orchard, one day we were 
all playing hide-and-seek. Twas a long 
search we had after her, and frightened 
enough she was too, for it was not so easy 
to get down as to get up, — and the apple 
blossoms hid her so completely, she'd nerer 
have been found, only she cried out — and 
it's I was glad enough to hear her sweet 
voice, and when I got up into the tree, her 
cheek was like the apple blossoms them- 
selves, a little paler than customary, but 
not deadly white, for she'd a brave spirit for 
a child, and a dawney little girl as she was 
then. (I wish the reader could have seen 
my true-hearted cousin, while talking sen- 
timent thus, with his red face, and his port- 
ly form, his striped waistcoat and top boots) 
" Lord be praised ! but those were the light 
times with us both ; no law suits then, nor 
hunting attomies from one end of this big 
city to the other — No I I never was so 
knocked up, not the day the Kerry cow, 
your uncle gave me, took a tour to the sea- 
side, all for diversion, the creature ! — having 
a taste for the salt water, and that you 
know, is a pretty step from my place, 

but there's the counsellor" and stopping 

short in his harangue, Mr. Brannagan 
popped his handkerchief into his hat, clap- 
ped his hat on his head, and away with him 
after his counsel. I did not see him again 
till dinner was half over, when he made his 
appearance, and now, oh I blessed fruit of 
toil ! — ^he sleeps soundly, oblivious alike of 
courts and causes, of Mrs. Brannagan, and 
the gas-woman. 

As for my two remaining guests, Count 
Stiffinhisstock and Capt. Dieaway, they're 
deep in a discourse on foreign affairs. But 
I must introduce them to the reader. Count 
Stiffinhisstock is half a Pole, half a French- 
man, and if the rules of arithmetic and his 
own veracity be both unimpeachable, he must 
have been also originally a Ituus natura, 
Certaii) it is, he was a colonel in Napoleon's 



army, and as I have heard from him a thou- 
sand times, lost an arm in two different bat- 
tles, one in Spain, and the other in Germa- 
ny, and as he has one still remaining, I take 
it, in accordance with the aforesaid rules, that 
he must originally have had three arms. The 
remaining arm has only one finger, the rest 
being stumps, and with this digital relic, he 
is now, in my primest port, on my neatest 
mahogany, drawing a map of the proposed 
fortifications of Paris, while Capt. Dieaway, 
(whom I need not introduce, for every body 
knows him,) being a doctrinaire and a great 
admirer of Guizot, is watching jealously this 
inchoate sketch of the artistic Count. The 
back of the captain's chair being turned to the 
table, his head is of necessity retroverted, to 
overlook the operations of his antagonist ; 
but this does not prevent his gulping hasti- 
ly the remainder of his tumbler, (for though 
a doctrinaire, he drinks punch,) preparatory 
to a fierce attack on the ci^evant imperial- 
ist. 

Well! they're deep in foreign affairs, and 
the argument will be a very pretty quarrel as 
it stands, without my interference ; and my 
friend Brannagan's asleep, so what shall I 
do ? — ^why I'll even take a turn at foreign 
affairs myself in my own fashion. So I'll 
pull the bell. Mike — ^tread softly, Mike, or 
you'll waken Mr. Brannagan — bring over 
that small table that's in the comer, and se 
it by the fire, and bring me those two books 
in brown covers — the new ones, Mike — 
that lie on the side board; hand me that ink- 
stand — and stay, let me see, go to my study 
and get me a few sheets of paper, and a 
couple of quills. And take my snuff-box 
to your mistress, and tell her to fill it for 
me ; the Count has spilt an ounce of my 
princeza* since dinner, taking it between 
his one finger and the palm of his hand — 
he ought to snuff with a quill like the Scotch. 
And, Mike, see that there's a fire lighted 
in Mr. Brannagan's room, for it's a cold 
night, and he'll be going to bed early, I 
fancy — and bring the captain some hot wa- 
ter, for what's in the iug is cold — and, Mike, 
take Dido down with you, and see if any- 
thing ails her paw. Mr. Dick trod on it, 
and the poor thing has been licking it ever 
since — and now, Mike, snuff the candles, and 
shut the door after you. 

So now, dear reader, that we've got ac- 
quainted, and you feel yourself at home, you 
are at liberty either to watch the progress 



• If this word shoidd oocauon any perplexity, 
we refer the curious snuff-taker to Mr« Itodenthal, 
of l^assatt-street. 



176 



A PEBP AT PABI0. 



of the grand engagement between the Cap- 
tain and the Count, or if it likes 70a better, 
to look oyer one of these yolames in brown, 
while I examine the other. 

Retoming then to the plural number, 
and to those little advantages which we 
sometimes take the liberty of hinting that 
bye gone times had over the present, it may 
be reckoned among them, that until the last 
half-century, a £ur probability always existed 
for the buyer of any book, not a norel, or a 
sermon, or a poem in ten-syllable verse, that 
though perhaps not exactly worth the money 
paid for it, it was yet good for something ; 
that the writer was actually more or less in 
earnest, or meant to be so, and therefore that, 
on careful search, some shadow of an idea 
might be found therein. For if it were not 
in some hope of that kind, what on earth did 
people in those times buy books for P The 
print was generally bad, the paper coarse, and 
as for the boarding or binding, nothing could 
be plainer or uglier. The notion of making 
up for inward poverty by outward ornament^ 
had as yet but faintly visited the bibliopolic 
brain. There was no gilding on the outside ; 
there were no pictures inside, or if any, such 
things as would now be deemed disgraceful 
to a ballad or a two-penny tract. There 
was, unless the purchasers chose to dress 
their books so, little of a furniture air about 
them ; books had not yet risen to be ranked 
with Brussels carpets, gilt mouldings, stuffed 
birds, alabaster ornaments, French mirrors, 
and ormolu. What therefore could people 
have bought them for, unless to read them.; 
unless with the hope of finding some plea- 
sure in the perusal, or instruction, or both P 
If a book had not this merit, it was good for 
nothing but to be sold to the snuff-man : 
and sold it was accordingly, or tossed into a 
lumber room. 

Nowadays — and here perhaps some may 
think that our times have the advantage 
after all — if a book has nothing in it, 'tis 
yet fifty to one it will make a pretty piece 
of furniture ; it will lie so nicely on your 
show table in your show sitting room ; or 
when the waning seasons discard it thence, 
'twill look so well on cabinet or chiffonier, 
or bookcase, with a score of its unread con- 
temporaries. Tbfi rows of gilt lettering will 
gleam so richly, and give such a finish to 
your apartment; and the stamped cloth, or 
imitation morocco, won't fade for a couple 
of years, if you're careful to keep the sun 
out. Verily, for people who have money to 
throw away, and who set no great value on 
their time, this upholsteric system may not 
be a bad one ; but we'll leave it to them to 



praise it. For onr own parts, being hr from 
rich, and moreover so unsophisticated as still 
to cherish the old notion of buying books to 
read them, and not to yawn or hM asleep 
over them, or locate them as ornamental 
icicles in that piece of petrified ostentation, 
ycleped a drawing room — ^we too often forget 
ourselves, and the age we live in, and thus 
have our hard-earned guineas filched from 
us irrevocably, before we recollect what we 
are about. Some too seducing piece of 
neatness, in new type, on cream-coloured 
paper, hot-pressed, with speckled lining, sil- 
ken covering, and arabesqued in gold, is put 
into our hands by the insinuating bookseller; 
and bitter as our past experience has been, 
our good nature, or our sanguine tempera- 
ment gets the better of our resolves ; we 
cannot for the life of us, be so hard hearted 
as to believe so &ir a piece of handy work 
altogether thoughtless or idealess — and 
presto,we are bitten for the hundredth time, 
and before we have leisure to think of it, 
mulcted of our money, our patience, and onr 
time. 

After all, 'tis a pardonable infirmity, 
though would we could better afford it. We 
had rather lose a little by the world's wick- 
edness, than by always bearing it in mind, 
keep our purse strings tight. 'Tis a mean 
tenure of existence, and beyond expreaaion 
a sad one, to live thus fenced from haim by 
selfishness and fear; harbouring ever ruffian 
catchpoles and bailiffs in the fairest chambers 
of the soul ; pillowing suspicion and hate 
where fiiith and hope might fitlier meet in 
ministry, where love and meek-eyed pity 
should never cease to dwell. 

'Tis pleasant also, when worldliness 
and distrust will come thronging back 
too soon to the misgiving heart, to 
keep them off for a time by the spell 
of some kindly experience. 'Tis a 
truly welcome refreshment in the arid de- 
sert of life, when finding unexpectedly 
flowers amid weeds, fruit upon thorns, corn 
instead of chaff, we rebuke the baser powers 
in us for their too officious forebodings. For 
such an adventure we are always disposed 
to be thankful, and as these volumes have, 
in a slight degree, afforded us such a grati- 
fication, we feel bound, both by duty and 
by inclination, to share the pleasure with 
our readers. 

So long as books are manufactured to 
order and for the market, it will be acknow- 
ledged to be desirable that those concerned 
in the fabrication should have some small 
portion of brains; brains implying here, not 
merely that degree of self possession^ which 



THE TtTllAltSH SKtiTi;H->BOOIt. 



177 



keeps a man out of bedlam, or that amount 
of cannings and mimicry, which in catering 
for the public taste seeks only to flatter its 
prevailing follies — ^but also some little 
sprinkling of humour and originality, the 
hone^ of experience sweetening the other- 
wise insipid repast, or the smile of intelli- 
gent sympathy bidding us good cheer. Ma- 
nufactured and machine-bom though the 
commodity be, the energy of a directing will 
should be displayed in it ; the aim of a per- 
vading idea uniting the whole map of task- 
work ; a few sparks of independent thought 
imparting to it animation, distinctness, 
sometimes perhaps even a remoter sem- 
blance of genuine life and power. 

But, alas I among the motley myriads, for 
by myriads they may now be counted, who 
to keep soul and body together, have 
enrolled themselves in the grand army of 
British authors, or among the myriads more 
who, prompted by vanity or ambition, have 
joined as volunteers that doom-devoted host 
— how few, comparatively speaking, have 
ever had brains at all; and of those again 
how few, after half a dozen campaigns, have 
any discernible remains of the little they 
once possessed. Here again, as genuine 
tniths never cease to be such, the old saying 
of the statesman, ^ Q;iMni porta 9apientia 
gybematur mwndvM^* assumes a new and 
melancholy significance, for the children of 
a later time. For favUe de mieux, /ante 
de pire, those motley thousands are, 
though the many know it not, though they 
scarcely dream of it themselves — ^they are, 
even though sodden, spirit-broken anoma^ 
lies, and mercenary cowards, and sumphs, 
and spoons, and sots, thou findest to thy 
dismay, so frequent among them — they are, 
in their own blundering, plundering fashion, 
as bravoes, bandits, or bullies ; as mocking 
misanthropists, or bletheringphilanthropists ; 
as cobblers or calculators ; as phthisical cyg- 
nets of the bygone swans of song, amateurs, 
amiable, but awfully insipid ; as oracular 

INirvenus,or querulous people of quality; as 
iterary tadpoles of every degree, or full grown 
toads and toadies, and overbearing deafening 
boll-frogs, dogmatists and doctrinaires — 
^pardon us the alliterations, festidious sir, 
lor we have redly striven to avoid them, 
but in calling over a catalogue what can we 
do?) or, turning to the comelier among 
them, as lordly lazy lumps of thew and si- 
new, stout and courageous enough, knew 
they only what to fight for, or whither to 
lead the insubordinate scapegraces whom 
'tis their lot to captain — they are, in all 



to suttler and shoeblack, from the cabinet 
minister and the hierarch to the penny-a- 
liner and the puff writer — they are, by fate, 
or by the capnce of nature, the virtual rulers 
of the world, or of their world; even of those 
nations of the earth, who speak the Eng- 
lish tongue, buy English books, or subscribe 
to English newspapers. Strong is that host 
in numbers, and not without its own enter- 
prising spirit and dogged tenacity of endu- 
rance; if it have not insight, it has instinct; 
if it cannot boast of much heroism, it at 
least has plenty of hunger to stimulate it — 
and as for its faults and follies, what wouldst 
thou require of it ? At such a time, in such 
a country as England, powerful, yet dena- 
tionalized, seemingly prosperous, yet dis- 
eased in every fibre ;' in such a state of so- 
ciety, so intensely practical, so utterly 
neglectful of the spiritual ; with such ex- 
tremes of idleness and toil, of riches and 
poverty, amid the universal worship of wealth 
and the mechanism which generates it; with 
cant and affectation and conventionality 
every where paramount, the hypocrisies of 
outward decency masking internal corrup- 
tion ; with such an apathy to the finer 
influences of art and poetry, and so fearful 
an ignorance of the spirit of true religion, 
cause, at once, and key, and consequence of 
all we have been lamenting — ^what else 
could be expected than that literature should 
partake of such corruptions, and every day 
shew itself more and more mercenary and 
degraded, forgetful alike of its duties and its 
rights? Art thou unreasonable, O reader ? 
In this chill prosaic winter, which hath girt 
the earth about, wouldst thou have the flow- 
ers of spring to greet thee, and autumn's 
fruit upon the boughs? Surely not. Such 
is not the course of the seasons. Ra- 
ther be thou thankful, that like the rein- 
deer thou canst, if thoult only scrape the 
snow away, root up moss enough for thy 
sustenance 'till for thee or thy children's 
children a sunnier time arrive. 

Not that we doubt for a moment that 
there are hundreds — many hundreds we 
hope, aye, and even thousands — ^in that 
quill-driving host, animated by nobler influ- 
ences, abounding still in energy and sincer- 
ity, and deficient only in that sagacity, that 
insight and calm wisdom, which are hardly 
attainable at such a period. Few men be- 
take themselves to literature without some- 
thing of a noble aim ; with the most selfish 
views of such aggrandizement, something 
totally unselfish must necessarily combine 
itself. And if too many, beguiled by vanity, 



their infinite variety, firom king and kaisar | enter the arena only to exhibit their weak 



178 



A PEEP AT PABI9. 



hess ; or if thousandB on thousands, endowed 
with real powers, hut unable from poverty 
or other untoward circumstance, to develope 
those powers, or find the fittest channels for 
their exercise, in any case so difficult a dis- 
covery, and the severest test of genius— 
if thousands of such men sink into the lethar* 
gy of total inaction, or hire themselves as 
listless labourers in a course of ungeninl 
toil, which gives them neither pleasure nor 
self-respect; if thousands thus be ruined, and 
perish as sots or slaves, or heart-broken im- 
beciles, are they not the more to be pitied, 
or is there aught on earth so pitiable? Ah, 
good upper-^ass or middle-class reader, who 
knowest not what starvation is, 'tis easy for 
thee to despise the Hterary hodman, and the 
more that, from the whiteness of his skin, 
thou takes t it that he must once have been 
a gentleman, though now he be ragged and 
a mechanic. Good gentleman, or gigman, * 
fat goose that thou art, this lean goose 
whom thou sneerest at, was once a gosling 
too; this gander (perhaps a swan s&i^isant) 
was once, even as thou wert, a foolish cal- 
low cackler, nestling beneath his mother's 
wing. He wore ^obbering bibs once, this 
poor hack of an author, even- like thyself, 
most sapient gigman or gigwoman ! He 
was once a fiuher's pride, a mother's hope 
and treasure. He who now writes, and lives, 
or starves by writing, had once to learn 
spelling; he blubbered in cold school rooms 
oyer his unfinished task, or offered piteously 
his reluctant palm to the master's descend- 
ing cane* He too had innocent amusements 
once ; he cheapened gingerbread and apples 
at street corners; he trundled hoops, or blew 
soap-bubbles (prismatic emblems of his fu- 
ture fate I) or played at marbles till his 
winnings wore holes in his pockets: for time, 
that untold treasure — that mercury of life, 
whose weight so tires men, that they cast it 
from them, and only as the glittering frag- 
ments hide themselves in the porous earth, 
jierceive the value of what they have lost — 
time was already a burthen to him. And 
now in meanness or in merit which of you 
hath the advantage ? Thou by greasing the 
wheels of the chariot, hast gained a safer and 
a sleekerlivelihood, while he, who too early, 
and with light head, aspired to mount and 
guide the vehicle, hurled from that proud 
eminence, is now a cripple and a pauper; or 

* Can it be necessary to remind the reader of 
the definition of 'respectable,' given at Thurteirs 
trial? — "Q, What sort of person waa Mr. 
"Weare ? A. He was always a respectable person . 
Q. What do you mean by respectable ? A, He 
kept a gig r 



does, to stave off poverty, what of good will 
he would not. The tragedy of life haa been 
for both, alas I a sorry farce — ^and who shall 
decide between you ? What if he had been 
as thou hast, a greengrocer, or a stockbroker, 
and had a brass knocker to his hall door ? 
Thou shopocratic sumph, he is, with all his 
faults and short-comings, thy brother, thy 
suffering brother, elder and worthier than 
thou; more sinned against than sinning, 
sinners though both of you be. 

Of all the aforesaid perplexities, however, 
the sad and undeniable result is, that a large 
proportion of the books published are, as 
near as may be, altogether idealess, and 
therefore, in all worthier senses, utterly good 
for nothing. Books are announced, writ- 
ten, printed, bound, puffed, and sold off with 
a rapidity that is truly astonishing. Were 
their authors demigods, instead of demifools, 
or demidevils, the inevitable consequence 
would be a proportionate fiimsiness of tex- 
ture. Nor is all the blame to be laid upon 
them ; the booksellers do more than half the 
cookery, and the authors are in their hands 
but as the unresisting paste, which with a 
dexterous application of their knuckles, 
they knead into the shape desired. Flim- 
sier and more insipid are these commodities 
every day, and as more sterling goods grow 
scarce or entirely disappear, the harder is it 
to avoid their successors, or keep them, in 
somestrange disguise or other, from slipping 
into your hands. To meet then in one of 
these productions, as we have done in the 
volumes before us, with some tokens of better 
fore, and the promise of more hereafter, was so 
agreeable a surprise, that we deemed it suf- 
ficient occasion for the foregoing remarks ; 
in which however, even while we blamed 
the prevalent abuses of book-making, we 
were compelled to temper the asperity of 
our censures with condolence and regret for 
the sources of that abuse. 

Summing up, therefore, all that we have 
been saying, in the brief maxim : — that 
so long as books shall be made, it is desira- 
ble that the makers thereof should have 
brains, and the more the better, — ^we beg 
leave to introduce to our readers the " Paris 
Sketch Book," a piece of regular book- 
making, and yet, by singular good fortune, 
not without solid stuff in it — ^keen insight, 
pithy remark, eloquent remonstrance, hu- 
mour of a sort, and other evidences of « 
passable sanity. 

We cannot, however, allow the title to be 
a judicious one; it promises tpo much. 
'* The Paris Sketch Book"— when a san- 
guine purchaser or borrower reads those 



THE TITMA1I8H SKtTCH'BOOK. 



179 



woidi on the title page, he expects (nn- 
reasonablj enough, we admit) to find the 
peculiarities of the peculiar metropolis of 
that most peculiar people, (if not the most 
thoughtful, certainlj the most thought-sug- 
gestive in Europe) grouped by a compre- 
hensive magic into the miniature epitome 
of a couple of post octavo volumes. Ah ! 
that were indeed a task, admirable, and 
worth the labour of a life-time, if it were 
not all but impossible. To describe the 
whimsies of one man, often indicative of 
little beyond bile or tooth-ache, is no easy 
task ; but to chronicle and characterise, to 
represent by idealisations, at once indivi- 
dual and representative, the whims and hob- 
bies, the wit and pathos, the piety and pro- 
faneness, the sayings and doings, the folly 
and wisdom of a whole city, and that the 
central city of the most centralised nation of 
the world, — ^the people in whom, thanks to 
their position, their temperament, their 
institutions, the pulse of modern civilisation 
may be most distinctly felt, and its health or 
sickness tested — ^that indeed were no easy 
task. Mr. Titmarsh had, so far as we can 
judge, small notions of attempting such an 
enterprise ; he has wisely contented himself 
with a more trifling venture. Looking out 
of his windows au quatriems in the Payi 
LattHf or taking a stroll on the Botde- 
rards^ or rambling through the galleries of 
the Louvre, he has sketched with careless 
grace, some striking features of the motley 
crowds around him. With some of the 
most remarkable of these it is our purpose 
to detain the reader, and we would hope 
also in some slight degree^ to interest and 
instruct him. 

Taking the liberty for the present to skip 
iwhat we do not approve of, the first paper 
which we shall notice is that on the F^tes 
of July ; and here we must premise that 
the author is an oddity in his way, and an 
oddity of a peculiar composition. Being, 
as we think likely, an Englishman, he is, 
if not a thorough John Dull,at least possessed 
of a good many of the characteristics of that 
peculiar breed. But he also has a good deal 
in him, which nine-hundred and ninety-nine 
bulls out of a thousand could never have 
dreamt of. The result is a mixture of practi- 
cal button-your-breeches- pocket, anti-moon- 
ahine, good sense, so called, with occasional 
piercing gleams of a high and far-seeing 
etheriality, which has not a little amused us. 
In our author s political opinions too, a simi- 
lar contrast (for it is not an inconsistency) 
may be remarked. If he be of any profet- 
sion^ he is, as he somewhere calls himself^ 



an anti-hnmbuggist ; but he also has some 
feeling that the denial even of humbugs 
is not the most profitable employment, and 
then, for a moment or two, he writes in a 
higher strain, and forgets his more prosaic 
self entirely. Being then an anti-hurabug- 
gist, the first humbug which, on his arrival 
in Paris, he takes it into his head to have a 
shot at, is 

THE FETES OF JULY. 

<'We have arrired here just in time for the 
fetes of July. — You have read, no doubt, of that 
Glorious revolution which took place here nine 
years ago, and which is now commemorated annu- 
ally, in a pretty facetious manner, by gun-liring, 
student processions, pole-climbing for silver 
spoons, gold watches, and legs of mutton, monar- 
chical orations, and what not ; and sanctioned, 
moreoTer, by Ghamber-of-deputies, with a grant 
of a couple of hundred thousand flraacs to deiVay 
the expenses of all the crackers, gun-flrings, and 
legs of mutton aforesaid. There is a new foun- 
tain in the Place Louis Quinze, otherwise called 
Place Louis Seise, or else the Place de la Rerolu- 
tion, or else the Place de la Concorde (who can 
say why?) — which, I am told, is to run bad wine 
during certain houre to>morrow, and there would 
have been a review of the National Guards and 
the Line — only, since the Fieschi business, re- 
views are no joka, and so this latter part of the 
festivity has been discontinued. 

** Do you not laugh— O Pharos of Bungay^at 
the continuance of humbug such as this ? — at the 
humbugging anniTersary of a humbug ? The 
King of the Barricades is, next to the Bmperor Ni- 
cholas, the most absolute Sover«gn in Kurope — 
there is not, in the whole of this fair kingdom of 
France, a single man who cares sixpence about 
him or his dynasty, except, mayhap, a few hang- 
ers-on at the Ch&teau, who eat his dinners, and 
put their hands in his purse. The feeling of loy- 
alty is as dead as old Charles the Tenth ; the 
Chambers have been laughed at, the country has 
been laughed at, all the successive ministries have 
been laughed at (and you know who is the wag 
that has amused himself with them all) ; and, be- 
hold, hero come three days at the end of July, and 
cannons think it necessary to Are off, squibs and 
crackers to blaze and flz, fountains to run wine, 
Kings to make speeches, and sutrjects to crawl up 
greasy m&ts-de*cQcagne in token of gratitude, and 
refouutaiie*»pvbiiqtte /—My dear sir, in their apti- 
tude to swallow, to utter, to enact humbugs, these 
French people, from Majesty downwards, beat all 
the other nations of this earth. In looking at 
these men, their manners, dresses, opinions, poli- 
tics, actions, history, it is impossible to preserve 
a g^avo countenance ; instead of having Carlyle 
to write a History of the French llevolution, I 
often think it should be handed over to Dickens or 
Theodore Hook, and, oh ! where is the Kabelais 
to be the faithftd historian of the last phase of the 
Revolution — the last glorious nine years of which 
we are now commemorating the last glorious 
three days ? 

" I had made a vow not to say a syllable on the 
subject, although 1 have seen, with my neighbours, 
all the gingerbread stalls down the Champs- 
Elys^es, and some of the ' catafalques* erected to 
the memory of the heroes of July, where the stu- 
dents and others, not connected personally with 



180 



A PBSP at t^ABIfl. 



the Tictims, and not havinfl^ in the least profited 
by their deaths, come and weep ; but the grief 
shewn on the first day is quite as absurd and fic- 
titious as the Joy exhibited on the last The sub- 
ject is one which admits of much wholesome re- 
flection, and food for mirth ; and, besides, is so 
richly treated by the French themselves, that it 
would be a sin and a shame to pass it orer.** 

Mr. Titmareh then qaotes from the French 
papers some account of the proceedings, and 
thus continues : — 

<< there's nothing serious in mortality : — is there, 
f^om the beginning of this account to the end 
thereof, aught but sheer, open, monstrous, undis- 
guised humbug ? I said, before, that you should 
have a history of these people by Dickens or 
Theodore Hoolc, but there is little need of pro- 
fessed wags ; — do not the men write their own 
tale with an admirable Sancho-like gravity and 
naavet^, which one could not desire improved ? 
How good is that touch of sly indignation about 
the UttU eatafalquet I how rich the contrast pre- 
sented by the economy of the Catholics to the 
splendid disregard of expense exhibited by the de- 
vout Jews 1 and how touching the * apologeiical 
dUcowrttt on the Revolution,' delivered by the Pro- 
testant pastors I Fancy the profound affliction of 
the Gardes-Municipaux, the Sergens de Viile, the 
police agents in plain clothes, and the troops, with 
fixed bayonets, sobbing round the expiatory- 
monumenta-of-a-pyramid^cal shape, surmounted by 
Aineral vases, and compelled, by sad duty, to fire 
into the public who might wish to indulge in the 
same wo 1 O, ' manes of July I' (the phrase is 
pretty and grammatical) why did you with sharp 
bullets breidc those Louvre windows ? Why did 
you bayonet red-coated Swiss behind that fair 
white facade, and braving cannon, musket, sabre, 
perspective guillotine, burst yonder bronze gates, 
rush through that peaceful picture-gallery, and 
hurl royalty, loyalty, and a thousand years of 
Kings, head over heels, out of yonder TuiUeries' 
windows ? 

*< It is, you will allow, a little difficult to say :— 
there is, however, one benefit that the country has 
gained (as for liberty of press, or person, dimi- 
nished taxation, a juster representation, who ever 
thinks of them?) — one benefit they have gained, or 
nearly— a6o/t/ion de la peine^de^mortf namely pour 
dSlit politique — ^no more wicked guillotining for 
revolutions — a Frenchman must have his revolu- 
tion-*it is his nature to knock down omnibuses in 
the street, and across them to fire at troops of the 
line — it is a sin to balk it. Did not the King send 
off Revolutionary Prince Napoleon in a coach- 
and-four ? Did not the jury, before the face of 
God and Justice, proclaim Revolutionary Colonel 
Vaudrey not guilty ? — One may hope, soon, that 
if a man shews decent courage and energy in 
half-a-dozen Smeutee, he will get promotion and a 
premium." 

Yet with all this sarcasm, our sketcher has 
good nature in him, and a touch of fairness. 
Witness a passage further on : — 

" The sight which I have just come away firom 
is as brilliant, happy, and beautiful as can be con- 
ceived ; and if you want to see French people to 
the greatest advantage, you should go to a festi- 
val like this, where their manners and innocent 
gaiety shew a very pleasing contrast to the coarse 



and vulgar hilarity which the same class would 
exhibit in our own country — ^at Epsom Race- 
course, for instance, or Greenwich Fair. The 
greatest noise that I heard was that of a company 
of jolly villagers from a place in the neighbour- 
hood of Paris, who, as soon as the fireworks were 
over, formed themselves into a line, three or four 
abreast, and so marched singing home. As for 
the fireworlcs, squibs and crackers are very hard 
to describe, and very little was to be seen of them. 
To me, the prettiest sight was the vast, orderly, 
happy crowd, the number of children, and the ex- 
traordinary care and kindness of the parents to- 
wards these little creatures. It does one good to 
see honest, heavy ipicierM, fathers of families, play- 
ing with them in the TuiUeries, or, as to-nigfat, 
bearing them stoutly on their shoulders, through 
many long hours, in order that the little ones, too, 
may have their share of the fun. John Bull, I 
fear, is more selfish : he does not take Mrs. Bull 
to the public house ; but leaves her, for the most 
part, to take care of the children at home.*' 

With all this censure of these filtes of 
liherty, the author is, we take it, a thorough 
democrat. It is indeed the intenseness 
of his democracy that makes him occa- 
sionally^ as in the passages quoted abore^ 
unreasonably peevish with such commemo- 
ratire ^rces, — forgetful that all farces have 
a tragic meaning in them, and that when 
nations choose to play them, they may be 
for juggling politicians and place-hunters, 
or aristocratic sneerers, farces laughable 
or contemptible; but that for the great 
mass of the people they are not so, but 
on the contrary instructive, serious, solemn, 
— if otherwise, they soon get tired of play- 
ing them. 

We come next to a rery pleasant and 
instructive sketch of one of the most 
amusing phases of modem French society — 
the aspiring labours, and free and easy lives 
of the innumerable artists, who swarm in 
the capital ; and first of 

THE FRENCH SCHOOL OF FAIKTIKO. 

" They say there are three thousand artists in 
this town alone : of these a handsome minority 
paint not merely tolerably, but well understand 
their business ; draw the figure accurately ; 
sketch with cleverness: and paint portraits, 
churches, or restaurateurs* shops, in a decent 
manner. 

" To account for a superiority over England— 
which, I think, as regards art, is incontestible — it 
must be remembered that the painter's trade, in 
France, is a very good one ; better appreciated, 
better understood, and, generally, far better paid 
than with us. There are a dozen excellent schools 
in which a lad may enter here, and, under the eye 
of a practised master, learn the apprenticeship of 
his art at an expense of about ten pounds a year. 
In England there is no school except the Aca- 
demy, unless the student can afford to pay a rery 
large sum, and place himself under the tuition of 
some particular artist Here, a young man, for 
his ten pounds, has all sorts of accessory instrac- 



THX TtniABSH SKETCH-BOOK. 



181 



tioo, mod«ls, &c. ; and has further, and for no- 
thing, numberleu incitements to study his profes- 
sion which are not to be found in EngUmd ; — the 
streets are filled with picture-shops, the people 
themselves are pictures walking about ; the church- 
es, theatres, eating-houses, concert-rooms, are co- 
vered with pictures ; Nature itself is inclined more 
kindly to him, for the sky is a thousand times more 
bright and beautiful, and the sun shines for the 
greater part of the year. Add to this, incitements 
more selfish, but quite as powerful : a French ar- 
tist is paid very handsomely ; for five hundred 
a-year is much where all are poor ; and has a rank 
in society rather above his merits than below them, 
being caressed by hosts and hostesses in places 
where titles are laughed at, and a baron is 
thought of no more account than a banker's 
clerk. 

** The life of the young ar^t here is the easiest, 
merriest, dirtiest existence possible. He comes 
to Paris, probably at sixteen, from his province ; 
his parents settle forty pounds a-year on him, and 
pay his master : he establishes himself in the Pays 
Latin, or in the new quarter of Notre Dame de 
liOrette (which is quite peofded with painters) i 
he arrives at his atelier at a tolerably early hour, 
and labours among a score of companions as merry 
and as poor as himself. Each gentleman has his 
favourite tobacco-pipe; and the pictures are 
painted in the midst of a cloud of smoke, and a 
din of puns and choice French slang, and a roar 
of choruses, of which no one can form an idea 
that has not been present at such an assembly. 

After some details of costume and 
amusements, which we omit, our author 
proceeds : — 

*' These* young men (together with the students 
of sciences) comport themselves towards the sober 
citizen pretty much as the German hurMch towards 
the philiMter, or as the nulitary man, during the 
empire, did to the pSkiu : — ^from the height of their 
poverty they look down upon him with the great- 
est imaginable scorn — a scorn, I think, by which 
the citisen seems dazzled, for his respect for the 
arts is intense. The case is very different in 
England, n^here a grocer's daughter would think 
she made a misalliance by marrying a painter, and 
where a literary man (in spite of all we can say 
against it) ranks below that class of gentry com- 
posed of the apothecary, the attorney, the wine- 
merchant, whose positions, in country towns at 
least, are so equivocaL As, for instance, my 
friend the Rev. James Asterisk, who has an un- 
deniable pedigree, a paternal estate, and a living 
to boot, once <tined in Warvrickshire, hi company 
with several squires of that enlightened county. 
Asterisk, as usual, made himself extraordinarily 
agreeable at dinner, and delighted all present with 
his learning and wit. * What a monstrous plea- 
sant fellow ?' said one of the squires. ' Don't you 
know?* replied another. 'It's Asterisk, the au- 
thor of so-and-so, and a famous contributor to 
such-and-such a magazine. 'Good Heavens 1' 
said the squfa-e, quite horrified ; * a literary man 1 1 
thought he had been a gentleman 1'" 

The French classical attempts, which are» 
by all accounts, airfnllybad, put the sketcher 
into a ra^, till he grows really eloquent as 
he reb^es the mania which produced them. 
We quote Uirgelyy for thQugn we think he 



goes a little too £ur, there are few artists 
who may not study his remarks with ad- 
vantage. The subject is of not a little 
interest and importance in this country, as 
we hare lately had in our Irish exhibition^ 
some striking examples of the wonders that 
may be effected, apart from any imitation 
or affectation of the classical ; though, we 
beg leave to maintain against all gainsayers, 
not without a deep feeling of the clas- 
sical in art and nature ; that perception of 
the calm, the harmonious, the beautiful ; 
that vision of the heavenly, though robed 
in simple garb of lowliest humanity, — of 
that Auness of the Deity in the homeliest 
works of nature, revealed ineffably, and yet 
so blended with the life and light of eveiy 
day existence, that while we breathe 
the breath of heaven, we never say we 
breathe it, nor feel the gloom of awe, or 
selfishness of fear, troubling the truer 
worship of our unconscious joy— that is the 
truly classical, as the Greeks knew it, 
created it, were it, and, by virtue of their 
deeper feeling thereof than ever people 
had, or can have, they are now and for ever 
the lords of all humanity. What they 
might have taught the world, had their 
policy been equal to their poetry, it is now 
idle to enquire; the dirty^ unteachable, 
unideal Romans first ruined^ and then 
mimicked them, and 'tis this mimicry, this 
uncouth caricature of the godlike* that for 
some fifteen centuries the stupid world has 
agreed to call the classical, and sacrificed 
on that false altar its dearest hope of self- 
development, its holiest birthright of true 
manhood, which should be filial, reverential, 
yet by the fullness of its own growth and 
independent being, self-ruled, self-guided* 
self-sustained. This mimicry of a mimicry, 
this apeing of an obsolete apery our author 
is right in assailing, and well he does it. 
God speed him, we cry, and so* we are 
sure, will the reader. 

<* The subjects are almost all what are called 
classical. Orestes pursued by every variety of 
Furies; numbers of little wolf-sucldug Romu- 
luses ; Hectors and Andromaches in a complica- 
tion of parting embraces, and so forth; for it was 
the absurd nuuim of our forefathers, that because 
these subjects had been the fashion twenty centu- 
ries ago, they must remain so imM€BeulaM^euiorum ; 
because to these lofty heights giants had scaled, 
behold the race of pigmies must get upon stilts and 
Jump at them likewise I and on the canvas, and hi 
the theatre, the French frogs (excuse the pleasan- 
try) were instructed to swdl out and roar as much 
as possible like bulls. 

*< What was the consequence, my dear friend ? 
In trying to make themselves into bnDs, the froga 
make themselTes into Jaokawesi m might be ex- 



1^2 



A PEEP AT PARU. 



p^cted. Tar a hundred and ten years the olasai- 
cal humhofiT oppressed the nation ; and you may 
see, in this gallery of the Beaux Arts, seventy 
years' spedmons of the dulness which it engen- 
dered. 

'* Now, as Ifatore made every man with a nose 
and eyes of his own, she gave Um a character of 
his own too ; and yet we, O foolish race ! must 
try our very best to ape some one or two of our 
neighbours, whose ideas fit us no more than their 
breeches t It is the study of Nature, surely, that 
profits us, and not of these imitations of her. A 
roan, as a man, from a dustman to .Ssohylus, is 
God's work, and good to read, as all works of 
Nature are : but tho silly animal is never content ; 
is ever trying to fit itself into another shape ; 
wants to deny its own identity, and has not the 
courage to utter its own thoughts. Because Lord 
Byron was wicked, and quarrelled with the world, 
and found himself growing fat, and quarrelled 
with his victuals, and thus, naturally, grew ilU 
humoured, did not half Europe grow ill-humoured 
too ? Did not every poet feel his young affections 
withered, and despair and darkness cast upon his 
soul ? Because certain mighty men of old could 
make heroical statues and plavs, must we not be 
told that there is no other beauty but classical 
beauty ? — ^must not every little wliipster of a French 
poet chalk you outplays, Htnriadetf and such«like, 
and vow that here was the real thing, the undenia- 
ble Kalon ? 

" The undeniable fiddlestick ! For a hundred 
years, my deiur sir, the world was humbugged by 
the- so-called olassicsl artists, as they now are by 
what is called ti^e Christian art (of which anon) ; 
and it is curious to look at the pictatorial tradi- 
tions as here handed down. The consequence of 
them is, that scarce one of the classical pictures 
exhibited is worth much more than two and six- 
pence. Borrowed from statuary, in the first 
place, the colour of the paintings seems, as much 
as poftsiblCy to participate in it ; they are, mostly, 
of a misty, stony, green, dismal hue, as if they had 
been painted in a world where no colour was. In 
every picture there are, of course, white mantles, 
white urns, white columns, white statues— those 
ohligia accomplishments of the sublime. There 
are the endless straight noses, long eyes, round 
chins, short upper lips, just as they are ruled down 
for you in the drawing-books, as the if latter were 
the revelations of beauty, issued by supreme au- 
thority, from which there was no appeal ? Why 
is the classical reign to endure ? Why is yonder 
simpering Venus de Medicis to be our standard 
of beauty, or the Greek tragedies to bound our 
notions of the sublime? There was no reason 
why Agamemnon should set the fashions, and re- 
remain &ya| h»Z^9 to eternity : and there is a 
classical quotation, which you may have occasionally 
heard, beginning, Vixere fortes^ &o., which, as it 
avers that there were a great number of stout fel- 
lows before Agamemnon, may not unreasonably in- 
duce us to conclude that similar heroes were to 
succeed him. Shakspere made a better man when 
his imagination moulded the mighty figure of 
Macbeth. And if yon will measure Satan by Pro- 
metheus, the blind old Puritan's work by that of 
the fiery Grecian poet» does not Milton's angel 
surpass JSschylus's— surpass him by 'many a 
rood?' 

** In this same school of the Beaux Arts, where 
are to be found such a number of pale ^imitations 
of the antique, Moorieur ThSers (and he ooght to | 



be thanked for it) had caused to be placed a full- 
sized copy of ' llie Last Judgment' of Miehael 
Angelo, and a number of casts from statues by the 
same splendid hand. There U the sublime. If you 
please— a new sublime — an original sublime — 
quite as sublime as the Greek sublime. See yon> 
der, in the midst of his angels, the Judge of the 
world descending in glory ; and near him, beauti- 
ful and gentle, and yet indescribably august and 
pure, the Virgin by his side. There is the 'Moses,' 
the grandest figure that ever was carved in stone. 
It has about it something frightfully majestic, if 
one may so speak. In examining this, and the as- 
tonishing picture of ' The Judgment,' or even a 
single figure of it, the spectator's sense amounts 
almost to pidn. I would not like to he left in a 
room alone with the ' Moses.' How did the artist 
live amongst them, and create them ? How did 
he suffer Uie painAil labour of invention ? One 
fancies he would have been scorched up, like Se- 
mele, by sights too tremendous for his vision to 
bear. One cannot imag^e him, with our small 
physical endowments and weakneases, a man like 
ourselves. 

" As for the Ecole Royale des Beaux Arts, then, 
and all the good its students have done, as stu- 
dents, it is stark naught. When the men did any- 
thing, it was after they had left the academy, and 
began thinking for themselves. There is only one 
picture among the many hundreds that has, to my 
idea, much merit (a charming composition of Ho- 
mer singing, signed Jourdy) ; and the only good 
that the academy has done by its pupils was to 
send them to Rome, where they might learn bet- 
ter things. At home, the intolerable, stupid clas- 
sicalities, taught by men who, belonging to tiie 
least erudite country in Europe, were themselves^ 
from their profession, the least learned among 
their countrymen, only weighed U^e pupils down, 
and cramped their hands, their ^yes, and their 
imaginations; drove them away from natural 
beauty, which, thank God, is fresh and attainable 
by us all, to-day, and yesterday, and to-morrow ; 
and sent them rambling after artificial grace, 
without the proper means of judging or attaining 
it." 

We copy another short passage to the 
same effect : — 

" Before you take your cane at the door, look 
for an instant at the statue-room. Yonder is 
Jouffley's f Jeune FiUe conflant son premier secret 
ji V^nus.' Charming, charming! It is from the 
exhibition of this year only ; and, I think, the best 
sculpture in the gallery — pretty, fanciful, naive: 
admirable in workmanship and imitation of Na- 
ture. I have seldom seen flesh better represented 
in marble. Examine, also, Jaley's ' Pudeur,' Jac- 
quot's ' Nymph,' and Bude's ' Boy with the Tor- 
toise.' These are not very exalted subjects, or 
what are called exalted, and do not go beyond 
simple, smiling, beauty and nature. But what 
then ? Are we gods, Miltons, Michael Angelos, 
that can leave earth when we please, and soar to 
heights immeasurable? No, my dear MacGilp; 
but the fopls of academicians would fain make us 
so. Ajre you not, and half the petntera in Lon- 
don, panting for an opportunity to shew yonr ge- 
nius in a great ' historical picture ?* O blind race I 
Have ]^ou wings? Not a feather: and yet you 
must be ever pufflng, sweating up to the tope of 
nigge4 hlUs; vA nrrired tho^y dapi^qg and 



THE TITMABSH SKETCH-BOOK, 



183 



shaking your ragged elbows, and making aa if you 
would fly ! Come down, silly Dedalus ; come 
down to the lowly places in which Nature ordered 
you to walk. Tlie sweet flowers are springing 
there; tlie fat muttons are waiting there; th\) 
pleasant sun shines there : be content and humble, 
and take your share of the good cheer." 

Oue fragment more of exquisite criticism, 
and we pass to some other topic. 

** The gallery contains a vast number of Pous- 
sin's pictures : they put me in mind of the colour of 
objects in dreams — a strange, hazy, lurid hue. 
How noble are some of his landscapes ! What a 
depth of solemn shadow is in yonder wood, near 
which, by the side of a black water, halts Dioge- 
nes. The air is thunder-laden, and breathes hea- 
vily. You hear ominous whispers in the vast 
forest gloom. 

" Near it is a landscape, by Carol Bujardin, i 
believe, conceived in quite a different mood, but 
exquisitely poetical too. A horseman is riding up 
a hill, and giving money to a blowsy beggar- 
wench. O matutini rores auraqiie saluhret ! in 
what a wonderful way has the artist managed to 
create you out of a few bladders of paint and pots 
of varnish. You can see the matutinal dews 
twinkling in the grass, and feel the fresh, salubri- 
ous air (' the breath of Nature blowing free/ as 
the corn-law man sings) blowing free over the 
heath ; silvery vapours are rising up from the blue 
lowlands. You can teU the hour of morning and 
the time of the year : you can do anything 
but describe it in words. As with regard to the 
Foussin above-mentioned, one can never pass it 
without bearing away a certain pleasing, dreamy 
feeling of awe and musing ; the other landscape 
inspires the spectator infalUbly with the most de- 
lightful briskness and cheerfulness of spirit. 
Herein Ucs the vast privilege of the landscape- 
painter : he does not eiddress you with one fixed 
particular subject or expression, but with a thou- 
sand never contemplated by himselfi and which 
oaly arise out of occasion. You may always be 
looking at a natural landscape as at a fine picto- 
rial imitation of one; it seems eternally pro- 
ducing new thoughts in your bosom, as it does 
fresh beauties from its own. I cannot fancy more 
delightful, cheerful, silent companions for a man 
than half a dozen landscapes hung round his study. 
Portraits, on the contrary, and large pieces of 
figures, have a painful, fixed, staring look, which 
must jar upon the mind in many of Hs moods." 

Were our fiiir readers ever persecuted for 
their (alas I too exclusive) devotion to 
novel- reading, and neglect of wholesome 
study. Here is a cnt-and-dry defence of 
them, which the author appears to have 
written specially for their benefit. 

A PLEA POR ROMAKCES IN GENERAL. 

<< There is an old story of a Spanish court 
painter, who, being pressed for money, and having 
recttved a piece of damask, which he was to wear 
in a state procoMion, pawned the damask, and 
appeared, at the show, dressed out in some very 
fine sheets of paper, which he had painted so as 
esaoUy to x wmW ■lUc Nay, his ooat looked so 



much richer than the doublets of all the rest, that 
the Emperor Charles, in whose honour the proces- 
sion was given, remarked the painter, and so hia 
deceit was found out. 

" I liave often thought that, in respect of sham 
and real histories, a similar fact may be noticed ; 
Uie sham story appearing a great deal more agree- 
able, life-like, and natural than the true one : and 
all who, from laziness as well as principle, are in- 
clined to follow the easy and comfortable study of 
novels, may console themselves with the notion 
that they arc studying matters quite as important 
as history, and that their favourite duodecimos 
are as instructive as the biggest quartos in the 
world. 

'* If, then, ladies, the big-wigs begin to sneer at 
the course of our studies, calling our darling ro- 
mances foolish, trivial, noxious to the mind, ener- 
vators of intellect, fathers of idleness, and what 
not, let us at once take'a high ground, and say, — 
Go you to your own employments, and to such 
dull studies as you fancy ; go and bob for triangles, 
from the Pons Asinorum; go eigoy your dull 
black draughts of metaphysics; go fumble over 
history books, and dissert upon Herodotus and 
Livy ; our histories are, perhaps, as true as yours ; 
our drink is the brisk sparkling champagne drhik, 
from the presses of Colbum, Bentley and Co. ; 
our walks are over such sunshiny pleasure-grounds 
as Scott and Shakspere have laid out for us; and 
if our dwelling^ are castles in the air, we find them 
excessively splendid and commodious; — ^be not 
you envious because you have no wings to fiy 
thither. Let the big-wigs despise us ; such con- 
tempt of their neighbours is the custom of all bar- 
barous tribes ; — witness, the learned Chinese : 
Tippo Sultaun declared that there were not in all 
Europe ten thousand men : the Sklavonic hordes, 
it is said, so entitled themselves from a word 
in their jargon, which signifies * to speak ;* the 
ruffians imagining that they had a monopoly of this 
agreeable faculty, and that aH other nations were 
dumb. 

** Not 80 : others may be deaf; but the novelist 
has a loud, eloquent, instructive language, though 
his enemies may despise or deny it ever so much. 
What is more, one could, perhaps, meet the stout- 
est historian on his own ground, and argue with 
liim ; showing that sham histories were much truer 
than real histories ; which are, in fact, mere con- 
temptible catalogues of names and places, that can 
have no moral effect upon the reader. 

" As thus:— 

" JoUos Caesar beat Pompej, at Phanalia. 

" The Duke of Marlborough beat Marshal Tallard, at 
Blenheim. 

** The Constable of Bourbon beat Fiands the First, at 
Favia. 

''And what have we here? — so many names, 
simply. Suppose Pharsalia had been, at that mys- 
terious period when names Were given, called 
Pavia ; and that Julius Cssar*s family name had 
been John Churchill ; — ^the fact would have stood, 
in liistory, thus : — 

*• Pompey ran away from the Duke of Marlborongb, 
at Pavia. 

And why not ? — ^we should have been just as wise ; 
or it might have stated, that — 

"The tenth legion charged the French inlhatry at 
Blenheim { and Cesar, writins: home to his manmui, 
said, * Madame, tout eat perdu /arw Vkumeuf.* 

<*^Yhat a eootemptible aeience this is, then, 



184 



A PEEP AT PAEIS. 



abont which quartos are written, and nixty-vo- 
lumed Biographies Universelles, and Larger 's 
Cabinet Cyclopaedias, and the lilce I the facts are 
nothing in it, the names everything ; and a gentle- 
man might as well improve his mind by learning 
Walker's Gazetteer, or getting by heart a fifty- 
years-old edition of the Court Guide. 

'* Having thus disposed of the historians, let us 
come to the point in question — the novelists. 

This pithy piece of special pleading is 
succeeded by some excellent remarks on 
the general incompetence of trarellers to 
form a jost estimate of the habits and 
characters of a strange people* 

" Passing from novels in general to French no- 
vels, let us confess, with much humiliation, that 
we borrow from these stories a great deal more 
knowledge of French society than from our own 
personal observation we ever can hope to gain : 
for, let a gentleman who has dwelt two, four, or 
ten years in Paris (and has not gone thither for 
the purpose of making a book, when tluree weeks 
are sufficient) — let an English gentleman say, at 
the end of any given period, how much he knows 
of French society, how many French houses he 
has entered, and how many French friends he has 
made ? — ^He has ei\{oyed, at the end of the year, 

" At the English Ambassador's, so many soirees. 
At the houses to which he has \ ^ ^.^, #^ «.^^ 
hioa^ht letters .... )«> many tea parties. 

At cam so many dinners. 

Atn«>ehpriT.tol><mM. . { ";^'^^{5^ •»•• 

** He has, we say, seen an immense number of 
wax candles, cups of tea, glasses of orgeat, and 
French people, in beat clothes, ei^oying the same ; 
but intimacy there is none ; we see but the out- 
sides of the people. Year by year we live in 
France, and grow grey, and see no more. We 
play ecarttf with Monsieur de Trefle, every night ; 
but what know we of the heart of the man — of 
the inward ways, thoughts, and customs of Trefle? 
If we have good legs, and love the amusement, we 
dance with Countess Flicflac, Tuesdays and 
Thursdays, ever since the Peace ; and how far are 
we advanced in acquaintance with her since we 
first twirled her round a room ? We know her 
velvet gown, and her diamonds (about three- 
fourths of them are sham, by the way) ; we know 
her smiles, and her simpers, and her rouge — ^but 
no more : she may turn into a kitchen wench at 
twelve on Thursday night, for aught we know ; 
her voiture, a pumpkin ; and her y«N«, so many 
rats : but the real, rougeless, intime, Flicflac, we 
know not. This privilege is granted to no Eng- 
lishman : we may understand the French language 
as well as Monsieur de Levizac, but never can pe- 
netrate into Flicflac's confidence : our ways are 
not her ways ; our manners of thinking, not hers : 
when we say a good thing, in the course of the 
night, we are wondrous lucky and pleased ; Flic- 
flac will trill you off fifty in ten minutes, and won- 
der at the bitise of the Briton, who has never a 
word to say. We are married, and have fourteen 
children, and would Just as soon make love to the 
Pope of Bome as to any one but our own vrife. 
If you do not make love to Flicflac, from the day 
after her marriage to the day she reaches sixty, 
she thinks you a fool. We won't play at 6c9ii4 
with Trdfle on Sunday nights ; and are seen walk- 



ing, about one o*clock, (accompanied by fourteen 
red-hured children, with fourteen gleaming 
prayer-books,) away from the church. ' Grand 
Dieu /' cries Trefle, ' is that man mad ? He won't 
play at cards on a Sunday ; he goes to church 
on a Sunday ; he has fourteen children I' 

" Was ever Frenchman known to do likewise ? 
Pass we on to our argument, which is, that with 
our English notions, and moral and physical con- 
stitution, it is quite impossible that we should 
become intimate with our brisk neighbours ; and 
when such authors as Lady Morgan, and Mrs. 
Trollope, having frequented a certain number of 
tea parties in the Frenph capital, begin to prattle 
about French manners and men, — with all respect 
for the talents of those ladies, we do believe their 
information not to be worth sixpence ; they speak 
to us, not of men, but of tea-parties. Tea-parties 
are the same all the world over ; with the excep- 
tion that, with the French, there are more lights 
and prettier dresses ; and, with us, a mighty deal 
more tea in the pot. 

** There is, however, a cheap and delightftil way 
of travelling, that a man may perform in his easy 
chair, without expense of passports or postboys. 
On the wings of a novel, from the next circulating 
library, he sends his imagination a g^ding, and 
gains acquaintance with people and manners, 
whom he could not hope otherwise to know. 
Twopence a volume bears us whithersover we 
will; — back to Ivanhoe and Coeur de lAonp or to 
Waverley and the Young Pretender, alcmg with 
Walter Scott ; up to the heights of fasMon with 
the charming enchanters of the silver-fork school ; 
or, better still, to the snug inn parlour, or the jo- 
vial tap-room, with Mr. Fickwick and his faUhliil 
Sancho Weller. I am sure that a man who, a 
hundred years hence, should sit down to write the 
history of our time, would do wrong to put that 
great contemporary history of Pickwick aside, as 
a frivolous work. It contains true character un- 
der false names ; and, like Boderick Bandom, an 
inferior work, and Tom Jones (one that is inmiea- 
surably superior), gives us a better idea of the 
state and ways of the people, than one could 
gather from any more pompous or authentic his- 
tories." 

Mr. Titmarah then, in illastration of 
bis theory, qnotea some striking pictures 
of Parisian life, from the noyels of M. de 
Bernard^ a writer little known in these 
countries, but as Mrs. Gore is about to 
translate some of his most popular produc- 
tions, we shall content ourselyes with quot- 
ing a single page of comment on the des- 
cription of a 

CARNIVAL BALL. 

*' The ' ruffitMementM et bondiMtemenitf ftaccAa- 
na/e et Matumale galop infernal, ronde du gahbai 
tout le tr emblement^* these words give a most clear 
untranslateable idea of the Carnival ball. A sight 
more hideous can hardly strike a man's eye. I 
was present at one where four thousand guesta 
whirled screaming, reeling, roaring, out of the 
ball-room in the Bue St. Honore, and tore down 
to the column in the Place Yendfime, round which 
they went shrieking their own music, twenty miles 
an hour, and so t#6 madly back again. I««i a 
man go alone to stih a place of amusement, and 
the ^ht for hhn is perfectly terrible: the honid 



THE TITMABfiH SKETCH-BOOK, 



185 



frantic gaiety of the place puts him in mind more 
of the merriment of demons than of men : bang, 
bang, drums, trumpets, chairs, pistol-shots, pour 
out of the orchestra, which seems as mad as the 
dancers ; whis a whirlwind of paint and patches, 
all the costumes under the sun, all the ranks in 
the empire, aU the he and she scoundrels of the 
ci^ital, writhed and twisted together, rush by 
you ; if a man falls, wo be to him : two thousand 
screaming menads go trampling over his carcass : 
they have neither power nor will to stop. 

" A set of Malays, drunk with bang, and run- 
ning the muck, a company of howling dervbhes, 
may possibly, at our own day, go through similar 
Arantic Yagaries ; but I doubt if any civilized Eu- 
ropean people, but the French, would permit and 
enjoy such scenes. But our neighbours see little 
sliame in them ; and it is very true that men of all 
classes, high and low, here congregate and give 
themselves up to the disgusting worship of the ge- 
nius of the place." 

The. next essay which attracted our no- 
tice is one on *' Napoleon and his System,'* 
and here Mr. Titmarsh is not so much at 
home. Napoleon is too grand, too vast an 
object for him, and he does not know what 
to make of him ; he cannot jump orer him, 
nor put him in his pocket, nor walk with 
him arm in arm, and so he takes to abusing 
him, as we suppose he has done more at 
length in a recent production which we have 
not seen :* altogether, what with his demo- 
cratical tendencies, and his profession of 
anti-humbuggism, he is in a sad quandary. 
There are however splendid passages in the 
essay, but we dare not enter upon it : it 
would lead us into an interminable argu- 
ment with the author — and besides hare we 
not our friend. Count Sti£Bnhisstock, to 
fight it for us P The battle of the fortifica- 
tions is just over, and the discomfited Cap- 
tain Dieaway has retreated to the drawing 
room. Tremble, O Titmarsh, the Count, 
with his one finger, shall slay thee. 

The second rolume opens with a lauda- 
tion of lithography, and its beneficial effects 
in popularising art, not forgetting its politi- 
tiod influence, in the diffusion of caricatures. 
Here the author is quite at home, and 
discourses very much to the purpose, as the 
reader shall hare an opportunity of judging, 
though we can only extract a couple of 
passages. The comparison between the 
state of the arts in England and on the 
Continent is too important to be omitted. 

*<In England, where money is plenty, en- 
terprise so crrcat, and everything matter of com- 
mercial speculation, Lithography has not been so 
much practised as wood or steel engraving, which, 
by the aid of great original capital and spread of 
sale, are able more than to compete with the art of 



* The Second Funeral of Napoleon, and the 
Chronicle of the Drum, by Mr. M. A. Titmarsh. 



drawing on stone. The two former may be called 
art done by machinery. We confess to a preju- 
dice in favour of the honest work of hand, in mat- 
ters of art, and prefer the rough workmanship of 
the painter to the smooth copies of his performan- 
ces which are produced, for the most part, on the 
wood-block or the steel -plate. 

" The theory will possibly be objected to by 
many of our readers : the best proof in its favour, 
we think, is, that the state of art amongst the 
people in France and Germany, where publishers 
are not so wealthy or enterprising as widi us,* and 
where Lithography is more practised, is iufbnitely 
higher than in England, and the appreciation more 
correct. As draughtsmen, the French and Ger- 
man painters are incomparably superior to our 
own ; and with art, as with any other commodity, 
the demand will be found pretty equal to the sup- 
ply : with us, the general demand is for neatness, 
prettiness, and what is called effect in pictures ; 
and these can be rendered completely, nay im< 
proved, by the engraver's conventional manner of 
copying the artist's performances. But to copy 
fine expression and fine drawing, the engraver 
himself must be a fine artist ; and let anybody ex- 
amine the host of picture-books which appear 
every Christmas, and say whether, for the most 
part, painters or engravers possess any artistic me- 
rit ? We boast, nevertheless, of some of the best 
engravers and painters in Europe. Here, again, 
the supply is accounted for by the demand ; our 
highest class is richer than any other aristocracy, 
quite as well instructed, and can judge and pay for 
fine pictures and engravings. But these costly 
productions are for the few, and not for the many, 
who have not yet certainly arrived at properly ap- 
preciating fine art. 

" Take the standard * Album' for instance — ^that 
unfortunate collection of deformed Zuleikas and 
Medoras (from Oie Byron Beauties, the Flowers, 
Gems, Souvenirs, Casquets of Loveliness, Beauty, 
as they may be called); glaring caricatures of 
flowers, singly, in groups, in flower-pots, or with 
hideous deformed little Cupids sporting among 
them ; of what are called ' mezzotinto' pencil 
drawings, < poonah-paintings,* and what not. ' The 
Album' is to be found invariably upon the round 
rosewood brass«inlaid drawing-room table of the 
middle classes, and with a couple of * Annuals* be- 
sides, which flank it on the same table, represents 
the art of the house ; perhaps there is a portrait of 
the master of the house in the dining-room, grim- 
glancing from above the mantel-piece ; and of the 
mistress over the piano up stairs; add to these 
some odious miniatures of the sons and daughters, 
on each side of the chimney -glass ; and here, com- 
monly (we appeal to the reader if this is an over- 
charged picture), the collection ends. The family 
goes to the Exhibition once a year, to the Na- 
tional Gallery once in ten yean : to the former 
place they have an inducement to go ; there are 
their own portraits, or the portraits of their 
friends, or Uie portraits of public characters; 
and you will see them infallibly wondering over 
No. 2645 in the catalogue, representing ' The Por- 



* There countries are, to be sure, inundated 
with the productions of our market, in the shape of 
Byron Beauties, reprints from the Keepsakes, 
Books of Beauty, and such trash ; but these are 
only of late years, and their original schools of art 
are still flourishing. 



186 



A PSEP AT PARUI. 



trait of a Lady/ or of the * First Mayor of Little 
PedlingtOD Biuce the passing of the Reform Bill ;' 
or else bustling and squeezing among the minia- 
tures, where lies the chief attraction of the Gal« 
lery. England has produced, owing to the effects 
of this class of admirers of art» two admirable, and 
five hundred very clever, portrait^painters. How 
many artUU f Let the reader count upon his five 
fingers, and sec if. living at the present moment, 
he can name one for each. 

** If, from this examination of our own worthy 
middle classes, we look to the same class in 
France, what a difference do we find ! Humble 
ca/cM in country towns liave their walls covered 
with pleasing picture papers, representing Les 
Gloires de tAtmie Fran^aw, the Seasons, the 
Four Quarters of the World, Cupid and Psyche, 
or some other allegory, landscape, or history, 
rudely painted, as papers for walls usually are; 
but the figures ace all tolerably well drawn ; and 
the common taste, which has caused a demand for 
Buch things, undeniable. In Paris, the manner 
in wliich the cafes and houses of the restaurattvrg 
are ornamented, is, of course, a thousand times 
richer, and nothing can be more beautiful, or more 
exquisitely finished and correct, than the designs 
which adorn many of them. We are not prepared 
to say what sums were expended upon the paint- 
ing of Very 8 or Y^four's, of the Salle-Musard, or 
of numberless other places of public resort in the 
capital. There is many a shopkeeper whose sign 
is a very tolerable picture ; and often have we 
stopped to admire (the reader will give us credit 
for having remained outside) the excellent work- 
manship of the grapes and vine-leaves over the 
door of some very humble^ dirty, ino^^orous shop 
of a marchand de vin, 

** These, however, serve only to educate the 
public tastO) and are ornaments, for the most part, 
much too costly for the people. But the same love 
of ornament which is shewn in their public places 
of resort, appears in their houses likewise ; and 
every one of our readers who has lived in Paris, 
in any lodging, magnificent or humble, with any 
family, however poor, may bear witness how pro- 
fusely the walls of his smart salon in the English 
quarter, or of his little room au sixieme in the 
Pays-Latin, has been decorated with prints of all 
kinds." 

The reflectioDB with which our author 
follows up his comparison are admirable, 
and we give them at length. They are 
truly full of wisdom, and deserve to be laid 
to heart by every one, who discerning the 
evils of our present state of social existence, 
is also minded to aid in remedying them. 

** Can there be a more pleasing walk, in the 
whole world, than a stroll through the Gallery of 
the Louvre, on a/^7e-day : not to look so much at 
the pictures as at the lookers on ? Thousands of 
the poorer classes are there : mechanics in their 
Sunday clothes, smiling grisettes, smart, dapper 
soldiers of the line, with bronzed wondering faces, 
marching together in little companies of six or 
seven, and stopping every now and then at Napo- 
leon or Leonidas, as they appear, in proper vulgar 
heroioe, in the pictures of David or Qros. The 
taste of these people will hardly be appoved by 
the connoisseur, but they have a taste for art. Can 
the same be said of our lower classes, who, if they 
are inclined to be sociable and amused ki their 



holidays, have no place of resort but the tap>room 
or tea-garden, and no food for converaaUoD, ex- 
cept such as can be built upon tiie politics or the 
police reports of the last Sunday paper ? 80 much 
has church and state puritaniam done for us— so 
well has it succeeded in materializing and binding 
down to the earth the imagination of men, for 
which God has made another world (which certain 
statesmen take but too little into account) — ^that 
fair and beautiful world of art, in which there 
can be nothing selfish or sordid, of which Dulness 
has forgotten the existence, and which Bigotry 
haa endeavoured to shut out from sights- 

" On a bannl les demons et les f£es, 
Le rait onner tiistement 8*accr£(Ute, 
On coart helas ! aprte la verity. 
Ah ! croyez moi, Tcrreur a son m^te !** 



« 



We are not putting in a plea, here, for demons 
and fairies, as Voltaire does in the above exquisite 
lines ; nor about to expatiate on the beauties of 
error, for it is none ; but the clank of steam- 
engines, and the shouts of politicians, and the 
struggle for gain or bread, and the loud denuncia- 
tions of stupid bigots, have well nigh smothered 
poor Fancy among us. We boast of our science, 
and vaunt our superior morality. Does the latter 
exist ? In spite of all the forms which our policy 
lias invented to secure it^in spite of all the 
preachers, all the meeting-houses, and all the le- 
gislative enactments, if any person will take upon 
himself the |iainful labour of purchasing and pe- 
rusing some of the cheap periodical prints wliich 
form the people's library of amusement, and con- 
tain what may be presumed to be their standard 
in matters of imagination and fapcy, he will see 
how false the claim is that we bring forward of 
superior morality. The aristocracy, who arc so 
eager to maintain, were, of course, not the last to 
feel, the annoyance of the legislative restrictions 
on the Sabbath, and eagerly seized upon that 
hj^y invention for dissipating the gloom and 
ennui ordered by Act of Parliament to prevail on 
that day — the Sunday paper. It might be read in 
a club-room, where the poor could not see how 
their betters ordained one thing for the vulgar, 
and another for themselves ; or, in an easy cluur, 
in the study, whither my lord retiree every Sunday 
for his devotions. It dealt in private scandal and 
ribaldry, only the more piquant for its pretty flimsy 
veil of double entendre. It was a fortune to the 
publisher, and it became a necessary to the reader, 
which he oould not do without, any more than 
without his snuiF box, his opera-box, or hia eluuse 
after coffee. The delightful novelty could not for 
any time be kept exclusively for the kaut ton ; 
and from my lord it descended to his valet or 
tradesmen, and from Grosvenor-square it spread 
all the town through ; so that now the lower 
classes have their scandal and ribaldry organs, as 
well as their betters (the rogues, they will imitate 
them I) ; and as their tastes are somewhat coarser 
than my lord's, and their numbers a thousand to 
one, why, of course, the prints have increased, 
and the profligacy has been diffused in a ratio ex- 
actly proportionable to the demand, until the town 
is infested with such a number of monstrous pub- 
lications of the kind as would have put Abbe Du- 
bois to the blush, or made Louis XV. cry shame. 
Talk of English morality I — the worst licentious- 
ness, in the worst period of the French monarchy, 
scarcely equalled the wickedness of this Sabbath- 
kteping country of ours. 
** The reader will be glad, at last, to eome to 



TBE TmUBfiB SKBTCHyBOOK. 



187 



the eonclnsioii that we would fain draw from all 
these descripttona — why does this immorality ex* 
ist? Because the people must be amused, and 
have not been taught how ; because the upper 
classes, frightened by stupid cant, or absorbed in 
material want, has not as yet learned the refine- 
ment wliich only the cultivation of art can give ; 
and when their intellects are uneducated, and their 
tastes are coarse, the tastes and amusements of 
classes still more ignorant must be coarse and vi- 
cious likewise, in an increased proportion. 

"Such discussions and violent attaclcs upon 
high and low. Sabbath-bills, politicians, and what 
not, may appear, perhaps, out of place, in a few 
pages which purport only to give an aecount of 
some French drawings : all we would urge is, thi^ 
in France, these prints are made because they are 
liked and appreciated ; with us they are not made, 
because they are not liked and appreciated ; — and 
the more is the pity. Nothing merely intellectual 
will be popular among us : we do not love beauty 
for beauty 8 sake,as the Germans; or wit, for wit s 
sake, as the French : for abstract art we have no 
appreciation. We admire H. B.'s caricatures, 
because they are the caricatures of well-known 
political characters, not because they are witty ; 
and Box, because he writes us good palpable sto- 
ries (if we may use such a word to a story) ; and 
Madame Yestris, because she has the most beau- 
tifully shaped legs ; — the ari of the designer, the 
writer, the actress (each admirable in its way), is 
a very minor consideration ; each might have ten 
times the wit, and would be quite unsuccessful 
without their substantial points of popularity. 

*' In France such matters are far better nm- 
naged, and the love of art is a thousand times 
more keen ; and (from this feeling, surely) how 
much superiority is there in French aociety over 
our own; how much better is social happiness un- 
derstood ; how much more manly equality is there 
between Frenchman and Frenchman, than Inb- 
tween rich and poor in our own country, with all 
our superior w^th, instruction, and political free- 
dom I There is, amongst the humblest, a gaiety, 
cheerfulness, politeness, and sobriety, to which, in 
England, no class can shew a parallel ; and these, 
be it remembered, are not only qualities for holi- 
days, but fof working-days too, and add to the en- 
joyment of human life as much as good clothes, 
good beef, or good wages. If, to our freedom, we 
could but add a little of their happiness! — it is one, 
after all, of the cheapest commodities in the world, 
and in the power of eveiy man (with means of 
gaining decent bread) who has the will or the skill 
to use it." 

But we are fiir exceeding oiir limits^ and 
must bring these extracts to a close. The 
remainder of the essay, which we strongly 
recommend to the attention of all our readers, 
contains a minute and humorous account of 
the grand contest between Louis Philippe and 
the caricaturists ; telling how Louis Philippe, 
after sundry defeats, and victories as bad 
as defeat, succeeded at length in driving his 
graphic enemies from the vantage ^und 
of politics, and restricting them or banish- 
ing them to the wide domain of social 
knavery, and domestic folly. 

There is an amusing account of the re- 1 

yoi^ |ii. MO. XVII, 



cent toiditant religious manifestations in 
Paris, from which we extract the fol- 
lowing : — 

" It must be confessed that the controversialists 
of the present day, have an eminent advantage 
over their predecessors in the days of folios : it 
required some learning then, to write a book ; and 
some time, at least ; — for the very labour of writ- 
ing out a thousand such vast pages would demand 
a considerable period. But now, in the age of 
duodecimos, the system is reformed altogether : a 
male or female controversialist draws upon his 
imagination, and not his learning; makes a story 
instead of an argument, and, in the course of 150 
pajges (where th